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http://www.archive.org/details/corneilleOOvincrich 


BY  LEON  H,  VINCENT 


THE  BIBLIOTAPH  AND  OTHER 
PEOPLE  i2mo,  $1.50 

BRIEF  STUDIES  IN  FRENCH  SOCI- 
ETY AND  LETTERS  IN  THE  XVII. 
CENTURY 

HOTEL   DE   RAMBOUILLET  AND  THE 

PRI^CIEUSES 

THE   FRENCH   ACADEMY 

CORNEILLE 

Each,  i6mo,  $1.00, 
MOLIERE.     In  preparation. 


HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN  &.  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


Copyright y  igoi,  by  Leon  K  Vincent 
All  rights  reserved 


To 
DEWITT  MILLER 

A  modern  Book-Hunter  of  the  Old  School 


357361 


CONTENTS 
Introduction I 

-4-   I   H- 

Touth  and  Dramatic  Beginnings      ,     .      1 1 

The  Five  Authors 33 

-^  III+- 
The  parrel  of  the  C\^ 63 

-I.  IV  -*- 
Horace,  Cinna,  and  Polyeucte       .     .101 

-♦.  V  -»- 
Later  Works 131 

-H  VI  -*- 

Corneille  the  Man 151 

-*.  VII  -^ 
Services  to  Literature —  Conclusion  ,      .175 

Bibliographical  Note >   ^93 


CORNEILLE 


Ji^c 


=«%K 


JLHERE  is  a  well-known  print 
showing  the  salle  du  theatre  of  the 
Palais  Cardinal,  Richelieu's  magnifi- 
cent abode,  during  the  performance  of 
a  play.  The  two  galleries  are  filled 
with  sumptuously  arrayed  and  deco- 
rously mannered  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
The  royal  party  occupy  armchairs  on 
the  main  floor  commanding  an  unob- 
structed view  of  the  stage,  a  luxury, 

-H  I  H— 


CORNEILLE 

by  the  way,  which  few  besides  royalty 
are  privileged  to  enjoy.  This  distin- 
guished group  consists  of  Louis  XIII, 
Anne  of  Austria,  the  Dauphin,  and 
Gaston  D'Orleans.  Louis  and  his 
brother,  oblivious  for  the  moment  of 
the  spectacle,  are  holding  an  animated 
conversation;  though  it  may  be  that 
this  is  only  a  device  of  the  artist  to 
enable  him  to  show  the  faces  of  the 
eminent  guests,  since  the  picture  is 
sketched  from  a  point  of  view  directly 
back  of  the  royal  party.  Richelieu  is 
nowhere  visible.  It  is  safe,  however, 
to  count  upon  his  presence.  One  may 
believe  that  from  some  advantageous 
post  the  Cardinal's  gaze  is  occasionally 
bent  upon  Gaston  with  a  look  in  which 
are  blended  suspicion  and  amused 
contempt. 


CORNEILLE 

This  picture  illustrates  among  other 
things  how  fashionable  the  drama  had 
become.  We  are  in  the  centre  of  the 
great  social  world,  and  that  world  is 
absorbed  in  the  stage.  Whatever  the 
play  may  be,  one  thing  is  certain,  it 
is  the  work  of  some  poet  approved  of 
society.  This  theatre  of  the  Palais 
Cardinal,  with  its  pomp  and  magnifi- 
cence, offers  a  striking  contrast  to  the 
theatre  of  Hotel  de  Bourgogne  as  the 
historians  describe  it. 

A  great  barren  hall  floored  with 
stone.  A  stage  ill  equipped  and  dimly 
lighted  with  candles.  There  are  at- 
tendants whose  business  it  is  to  keep 
the  candles  snuffed,  and  who  do  their 
work  with  little  regard  for  what  is  tak- 
ing place  on  the  boards.  That  part 
of  the    audience   which   crowds   the 


CORNEILLE 

parterre  does  not  even  enjoy  the  hum- 
ble luxury  of  seats,  but  must  stand  up 
during  the  entire  performance.  It  is 
a  motley  crowd,  'merchants,  artisans, 
scriveners,  clerks,  students,  lackeys, 
bullies,  and  pickpockets/  They  are 
brutal  and  noisy.  Conspicuous  among 
them  are  the  king's  mousquetaires,  who 
exact  the  privilege  of  entering  free, 
and  who  make  'un  bruit  d'enfer'  in 
their  pleasure  or  disappointment. 

The  performance  begins  with  a  pro- 
logue, always  gross  and  often  obscene. 
Then  follows  the  tragedy  or  tragi- 
comedy. A  farce  is  given  at  the  close 
to  relieve  the  strain,  or  perhaps  there 
is  a  song  less  witty  than  suggestive. 
The  entertainment  was  not  one  at 
which  women  could  be  present  and  at 
the  same  time  maintain  their  self-re- 


CORNEILLE 

spect.  Nevertheless,  polished  society, 
which  had  so  great  an  influence  upon 
manners  and  conversation  in  the  early 
Seventeenth  Century,  extended  its 
humanizing  virtues  to  this  brutal  the- 
atre. If  this  influence  is  not  at  first 
easily  perceived  or  always  clearly  to 
be  traced,  the  fact  must  be  attributed 
to  that  independence  of  temper  which 
is  a  marked  characteristic  of  the  thea- 
tre and  of  theatrical  life.  The  stage 
is  a  world  to  itself,  and  a  world  alto- 
gether impatient  of  external  control. 

We  have  seen  how  the  Marquise 
de  Rambouillet  placed  men  of  letters 
on  a  footing  of  social  equality  with 
the  aristocratic  world.  Several  years 
elapsed,  however,  before  the  poets  of 
polite  society  were  attracted  to  the 
stage  as  a  field  for  the  exercise  of  their 


CORNEILLE 

powers.  The  theatre,  with  much  that 
appertained  thereto,  was  held  in  con- 
tempt until  the  time  of  Alexandre 
Hardy.  This  fecund  playwright  has 
been  described  as  '  a  Shakespeare  with- 
out the  genius.'  Lanson  calls  him  a 
carpenter  rather  than  a  writer  of  plays. 
His  sense  of  literature  was  small,  but 
he  understood  perfectly  the  art  of  dra- 
matic construction.  He  wrote  several 
hundred  plays,  faulty  as  literature,  but 
admirable  as  stage  pieces.  His  skill 
in  the  constructive  part  of  his  art 
attracted  the  attention  and  compelled 
the  admiration  of  the  poets  of  polished 
society.  Racan,  a  pupil  of  Malherbe, 
a  frequenter  of  the  '  blue  room,'  used 
to  see  Hardy's  plays  at  Hotel  de  Bour- 
gogne  and  ask  himself  whether  these 
pieces  which  had  so  much  dramatic 
-I-  6-1- 


CORNEILLE 

virtue  could  not  have  a  little  more  and 
become  literature  also.  With  this 
thought  dominant  in  his  mind  he 
wrote  the  Bergeries,  'Society'  was 
fully  represented  when  the  piece  was 
given  at  Hotel  de  Bourgogne. 

Other  poets  followed  Racan's  ex- 
ample, and  the  social  world  was  loyal 
to  its  poets.  The  polish,  the  elegance, 
the  agreeable  sophistication  of  the  life 
of  the  salon,  effected  a  complete  trans- 
formation in  the  theatre,  and  the  influ- 
ence of  a  powerful  minister  completed 
the  work  in  so  far  as  it  could  be  done 
without  the  help  of  a  dramatic  poet  of 
transcendent  genius. 

The  precieux  poets  and  dramatists 
were  able  to  give  little  to  the  national 
stage  besides  refinement  and  polish. 
Hardy  is  still  regarded   as  the  true 


CORNEILLE 

precursor  of  Corneille.  But  the  dis- 
tance between  Hardy  and  Corneille 
seems  even  greater  than  the  distance 
between  the  predecessors  of  Shake- 
speare and  Shakespeare.  Corneille 
came  with  a  genius  of  imperious  self- 
assertive  quality.  It  was  a  genius  of 
that  sort  which  makes  bitter  enemies, 
but  which  also  wins  enough  applause 
to  drown  the  hisses.  Corneille  created 
the  French  tragedy.  His  success  was 
so  overwhelming  that  he  carried  all 
before  him.  He  was  victor  in  spite 
of  the  Academy  with  its  Sentiments^  in 
spite  of  the  Cardinal  himself  The 
achievement  was  extraordinary.  '  The 
man  who  derived  in  no  sense  from  his 
predecessors,  who  learned  nothing  from 
Jodelle,  nothing  from  Gamier,  and 
very  little  from  Hardy,  was  able  to 


CORNEILLE 

teach  all  who  came  after  him.'  He 
inspired  Racine,  he  inspired  Moliere. 
All  French  dramatic  history  centres  in 
Pierre  Corneille.  '  There  is  no  greater 
name  in  the  history  of  our  literature.' 


Jf^  f^ 


^w/ORNEILLE  was  born  in 
Rouen,  in  1606.  The  critics  admit 
that  if  one  could  not  be  born  in  Paris, 
or,  what  amounts  to  the  same  thing, 
come  to  Paris  as  soon  as  possible  after 
being  born,  then  Rouen  was  a  very 
good  starting-point  for  a  poet.  It  was 
a  publishing  centre.  It  had  literary 
and  dramatic  interests  which  were 
quite  its  own,  and  in  no  sense  a  pale 
reflection  of  what  was  done  in  the 
metropolis.     'After  Paris  it  was  the 


CORNEILLE 

city  where  the  theatre  most  flourished.' 
The  famous  Montchrestien,  'whose 
life  and  death  were  more  tragic  than  his 
tragedies,'  was  a  Norman,  though  not 
of  Rouen.  A  society  of  comedians 
similar  to  the  'Enfants  Sans-souci' 
of  Paris  had  flourished  there  in  the 
Sixteenth  Century ;  they  called  them- 
selves the '  Connards.'  Their  memory 
was  green  in  Corneille's  time.  These 
traditions  and  associations  had  their 
effect  upon  the  young  poet.  Rouen 
had  also  its  Academy,  the  '  Puy  des 
Palinods,'  which  encouraged  poets  and 
awarded  prizes  to  successful  practi- 
tioners in  the  art. 

The  Corneilles  were  a  family  of  the 
'  robe.'  The  poet's  grandfather,  Pierre 
Corneille,  was  at  first  *commis  au 
greffe'  of  the  Parliament  of  Rouen 


CORNEILLE 

and  then  '  conseiller  referendaire '  in 
the  '  chancellerie '  of  the  same  Parlia- 
ment. The  poet's  father,  also  a  Pierre 
Corneille,  was  'maitre  particulier'  of 
waters  and  forests  in  the  vicomte  of 
Rouen.  He  was  noted  for  his  physi- 
cal courage,  and  for  the  resolution  and 
energy  with  which  he  suppressed  the 
bands  of  marauders  that  pillaged  the 
woods  of  the  State. 

Young  Pierre  studied  at  the  College 
of  the  Jesuits  in  Rouen.  He  was 
solidly  grounded  in  Latin,  and  received 
at  least  two  prizes  for  skill  in  verse 
composition.  The  prizes  were  books : 
Herodian's  Histories^  awarded  in  1618, 
and  Panciroli's  Notitia  Dignitatum, 
awarded  in  1620.  These  interesting 
relics  of  a  great  poet's  school-days  are 
still  in  existence,  and  may  be  profitably 


CORNEILLE 

examined  by  such  as  maintain  that  the 
men  who  take  prizes  in  college  never 
take  them  elsewhere. 

At  eighteen  Comeille  was,  as  we 
would  say,  admitted  to  the  bar.  He 
purchased  two  offices,  one  on  the 
bench  of  waters  and  forests  and  the 
other  in  the  administration  of  marine. 
For  twenty  years  this  was  his  work ; 
and  he  devoted  himself  thereto  with 
scrupulous  exactitude.  He  was 
studying  dramatic  composition  in  his 
leisure  moments,  to  be  sure,  but  he 
was  first  of  all  a  man  of  affairs.  This 
is  a  noteworthy  characteristic  of  the 
great  poets.  With  few  exceptions 
they  have  been  able  and  willing  to  do 
their  share  in  bearing  the  homely  and 
practical  responsibilities  of  life.  They 
have  not  sought  immunity  because 
-H4  H- 


CORNEILLE 

they  were  gifted.  As  a  rule,  only  the 
small  poets  plead  poetry  as  an  excuse 
for  not  working.  This  principle  or 
rule  does  not  suffer  in  the  least  because 
we  know  that  Corneille  was  not  happy 
in  the  conduct  of  practical  affairs. 
Fontenelle  says  that  Corneille  had  no 
taste  for  the  law,  and  that  he  was  not 
successful  in  it  All  the  more  credit- 
able to  him  are  those  twenty  years  of 
uncongenial  legal  work.  In  later  years 
the  poet's  aversion  to  affairs  increased ; 
the  mere  word  business  was  sufficient, 
says  Fontenelle,  to  bring  terror  to  his 
soul. 

He  made  his  dramatic  beginning 
at  the  age  of  twenty-three,  with  a  piece 
called  MHitCy  ou  les  fausses  lettres^  a 
comedy  in  five  acts  and  in  verse. 
The  distinguished  actor  Mondory 
^15-1- 


CORNEILLE 

happened  to  be  in  Rouen.  Mondory's 
experience  was  no  doubt  that  of  most 
influential  actors  and  managers ;  aspir- 
ing dramatic  poets  brought  him  their 
plays  to  read  and  to  approve.  His 
experience  may  have  been  like  that 
of  a  modem  actor  of  whom  I  have 
heard.  '  These  young  men  bring  me 
plays/  he  said,  '  and  if  I  refuse  to  see 
them  they  leave  the  manuscript  on  the 
doorstep.' 

Milite  easily  passed  the  ordeal  of 
a  reading.  It  was  produced  at  the 
Theatre  de  Marais  in  Paris  in  1633, 
and  enjoyed  a  marked  success.  '  This 
piece  was  my  beginning,'  said  Cor- 
neille  in  after  years,  'and  it  was  not 
according  to  the  rules,  because  I  did  not 
then  know  that  there  were  any.  I  had 
for  guide  only  a  little  common-sense, 
— I- 16  +- 


CORNEILLE 

together  with  the  example  of  the  late 
Hardy,  whose  vein  was  more  copious 
than  polished,  and  of  some  moderns 
who  had  commenced  to  produce,  and 
who  were  no  more  regular  than  he.' 
Much  of  the  success  of  the  play  must 
be  attributed  to  the  youth  of  its  author, 
and  to  the  fact  that  he  was  blessedly 
ignorant  of  the  arbitrary  laws  of  the 
art.  As  yet  the  fear  of  the  dramatic 
pedagogues  was  not  before  his  eyes. 

Two  or  three  remarkable  facts  about 
this  play  deserve  comment.  It  was 
one  of  the  first  pieces  to  produce 
legitimately  comic  effects  without  the 
buffoonery  of  valets,  servants,  'capi- 
tans,'  and  doctors.  Corneille  prided 
himself  upon  this.  He  was  an  inno- 
vator and  took  pleasure  in  the  improve- 
ments which  he  had  made.     The  idea 


CORNEILLE 

that  Corneille  was  the  Father  of 
French  Tragedy  is  so  firmly  rooted  in 
our  minds  as  to  make  us  forgetful  of 
his  services  to  the  other  branches  of 
dramatic  art ;  and  it  is  with  something 
of  an  effort  that  we  comprehend  the 
statement  of  the  critic  who  speaks  of 
Corneille  as  the  forerunner  of  Moliere. 
'  This  work,  MHite^  made  a  revolution 
in  the  drama  for  which  Moliere  has 
had  the  honor  because  his  talent 
brought  it  out  with  great  splendor.' 
Corneille  may  be  said  to  have  shown 
Moliere  the  path  which  true  comedy 
must  take. 

Another  remarkable  fact :  the 
comedy  of  Melite  is  a  document  which 
must  be  studied  if  one  would  know 
how  the  great  social  world  of  that  day 
talked.     Roederer    calls     Melite    an 


CORNEILLE 


'  authentic  monument  of  the  habitual 
language  of  the  best  society.'  Where 
did  Corneille  so  master  the  tongue  as 
to  be  able  to  produce  this  piece  at 
the  age  of  twenty-three  ?  Brunetiere 
affirms  that  Corneille  wrote  all  his  life 
with  a  view  to  being  acceptable  to  the 
precieuses.^  The  distinguished  and 
learned  critic  does  not  mean  that  this 
was  Corneille's  sole  object  in  dramatic 
composition,  or  even  his  chief  object, 
but  that  it  was  an  object. 

For  a  moment  we  have  difficulty  in 
readjusting  our  ideas  to  this  new  con- 
ception. We  find  ourselves  entertain- 
ing a  repugnance  to  the  thought  that 
the  greater  poetry  can  be  the  product 
of  any  inspiration  short  of  the  highest. 

*  Brunetiere:    Manuely  p.  132. 
-1.194- 


CORNEILLE 

If  Brunetiere  had  asked  us  to  believe 
that  such  plays  as  Milite,  la  Galerie 
du  Palais^  la  Suivante^  and  la  Place 
Roy  ale  were  written  for  the  precieuses, 
and  that  the  mighty  tragedies  were  for 
an  audience  greater  than  could  be 
brought  together  in  any  one  city  or 
in  any  one  decade,  we  should  be  pre- 
pared to  admit  the  justice  of  the  re- 
mark. Our  critic  is  thorough-going, 
however;  he  does  not  qualify.  Cor- 
neille,  with  all  his  universality  and 
depth,  was  at  the  same  time  local,  and, 
if  you  will,  fashionable.  '  In  Horace^ 
Cinna^  and  Rodogune^  where  he  mingles 
politics  and  gallantry,  you  are  not  to 
imagine  that  he  imitates  Justin,  Seneca, 
or  Livy;  the  manners  are  those  of  his 
own  time,  and  the  characters  are  taken 
from  models  who  have  posed  for  him/ 

^20h- 


CORNEILLE 

We  become  reconciled  to  the 
thought  after  a  little.  It  would  be 
absurd  to  suppose  that  men  who  write 
for  the  stage  do  not  always  have  the 
audience  in  mind.  They  who  write 
without  the  constraint  of  an  imaginary 
audience  will  produce  plays  which  can 
be  read  and  which  cannot  be  heard. 
Why,  then,  should  Corneille  be  ex- 
cepted, he  who  had  so  perfect  a  com- 
mand of  the  technique  of  the  drama, 
and  some  of  whose  plays  hold  the 
stage  to  this  day  ?  Brunetiere  would 
have  us  believe  that  Emilie  in  Cinna 
and  Cleopatre  in  Rodogune  are  not 
cold  studies  from  the  antique,  but  a 
living  and  splendid  reality,  none  other 
than  the  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse.  We 
can  the  better  understand  the  critic's 
position   by   keeping   in    mind    that 


CORNEILLE 

under  the  head  of  precieuses  he  in- 
cludes the  most  eminent  and  cultivated 
women  of  that  time. 

Corneille  would  have  been  greatly 
and  uncomfortably  surprised  could  he 
have  been  told  that  modern  criticism 
would  come  to  this  conclusion.  Lan- 
son  denies  that  the  poet  has  succeeded 
in  catching  the  spirit  of  antiquity  in  a 
marked  degree.  The  characters  in  the 
plays  are  labelled  as  of  this  nationality 
or  that,  but  it  comes  to  the  same  thing 
in  the  end ;  '  all  are  Frenchmen,  con- 
temporaries of  the  poet,  and  good  sub- 
jects of  Louis  XIIL'  ^  Lanson  adds 
that  what  the  drama  of  Corneille 
thereby  loses  in  historic  color  it  gains 
in  intense  actuality.     The  poet  gives 

^  Lanson  :    Corneille ,  p.  i68. 


CORNEILLE 

us  'a  faithful  and  striking  picture  of 
the  France  of  Richelieu,  of  that  aris- 
tocratic class  which  inaugurated  the 
absolute  monarchy  and  a  social  world.' 
According  to  this  critic,  the  tragedies 
of  Corneille  are  in  large  degree  only 
the  history  of  his  own  times. 

The  poet  himself  was  quite  con- 
vinced that  he  made  his  Romans  talk, 
think,  and  act  like  Romans,  and  not 
at  all  like  Frenchmen  of  the  Seven- 
teenth Century.  Most  dramatists  have 
similar  delusions  about  their  work. 
No  doubt  one  poet  comes  a  little 
nearer  to  the  classic  ideal  than  another, 
but  can  any  man  feel  certain  that  his 
stage  Romans  and  stage  Greeks  bear 
more  than  a  faint  resemblance  to  the 
heroes  of  antiquity  ?  Must  they  not 
of  necessity  be  of  the  poet's  own  time. 


'^^ — «.tl^  gy 

CORNEILLE 

and  own  country?  I  am  not  sure 
that  the  absurdity  of  dressing  the  char- 
acters in  costume  contemporaneous 
with  that  of  actors  and  spectators  was 
not  without  its  compensations.  At  all 
events,  the  mind  of  the  spectator  was 
not  diverted  from  the  play  itself,  and 
from  the  delivery  of  the  lines,  to  the 
thought  of  how  queer  the  antique  cos- 
tume was,  and  how  ineffably  absurd 
the  average  actor  appears  in  a  short 
tunic  and  a  makeshift  toga  and  '  look- 
ing as  if  he  had  forgotten  his  collar.' 
What  a  triumph  of  acting  must  that 
have  been  when  Mrs.  Yates  played 
Cleopatra  in  a  hoopskirt.  We  should 
not  wish  to  return  to  so  strange  a 
conception  of  how  a  part  should  be 
dressed.  The  public  of  to-day  would 
not  tolerate  Cleopatra  in  a  tailor-made 


CORNEILLE 

gown  for  the  first  act  and  an  evening 
gown  for  the  fifth  act.  Yet  grotesque 
as  the  custom  was,  so  long  as  it  pre- 
vailed, and  actors  and  actresses  went 
on  the  stage  in  their  every-day  clothes, 
and  no  one  thought  it  out  of  the  way, 
it  had  its  advantages. 

After  all,  these  great  poetic  creations 
do  not  make  their  appeal  to  the  heart 
from  generation  to  generation  by 
means  of  archseology.  If  the  play  of 
Julius  Casar  depended  for  its  vitality 
on  the  fact  that  Shakespeare  had 
summed  up  the  latest  discoveries  con- 
cerning Roman  life  and  manners,  that 
play  would  long  since  have  gone  the 
way  of  a  hundred  others  and  been  for- 
gotten. Where  the  dramatic  poets  of 
the  first  rank  show  their  power  is  in  the 
creation  of  types  which  all  men  can 


CORNEILLE 

understand,  types  which  are  not  of  a 
single  age  or  country,  but  universal. 
Shakespeare  was  characteristically 
English,  but  Shakespeare  was  none  the 
less  for  all  nations  and  for  all  time. 
Corneille  may  have  written  his  trage- 
dies with  Hotel  de  Rambouillet  in 
mind,  but  above  the  local  and  the 
fashionable  were  the  human  and  the 
universal  elements.  It  is  by  virtue  of 
these  that  he  lives. 

The  question  is  still  unanswered, 
and  I  do  not  recall  that  any  attempt  has 
been  made  to  answer  it :  Where  did 
Corneille  master  the  language  of  that 
charming  and  sophisticated  Parisian 
society  so  as  to  be  able  to  reproduce  it 
in  his  play  ?  He  had  had  no  oppor- 
tunity of  visiting  the  great  houses 
of  Paris ;  and,  if  the  boy  was  like  the 


CORNEILLE 

man,  he  was  awkward,  brusque,  and 
at  times  sullen.  These  are  not  quali- 
ties to  help  one  on  in  society.  Nev- 
ertheless, we  are  asked  to  believe  that 
Melite  represents  the  language  and  the 
fashions  of  polite  society  in  1630. 
Lemaitre  is  constrained  to  admit  that 
if  this  be  true,  as  is  quite  possible,  the 
conversation  of  polite  society  must 
often  have  been  '  bizarre.' 

Instead  of  following  up  the  success 
of  Milite  with  another  piece  in  the 
same  vein,  Corneille  produced  in  1632 
a  tragi-comedy  entitled  Clitandre^  ou 
I  ^innocence  delivree.  It  was  a  roman- 
tic drama,  stuffed  with  incidents  and 
involved  to  the  point  of  confusion. 
It  failed,  and  Corneille  returned  to  his 
earlier  manner  and  wrote  la  Veuve^  ou 
le    traitre   trahi^    la    Galerie  du  Pa- 


CORNEILLE 

lais  (1633),  la  Suivante  (1634),  and 
la  Place  Roy  ale  (1635). 

The  original  edition  of  la  Veuve 
contains  a  number  of  poetical  tributes 
from  various  dramatic  contemporaries. 
This  was  the  custom,  and  it  hardly 
needs  the  apology  which  Taschereau 
has  seen  fit  to  make  for  it  in  Corneille's 
behalf  There  are  not  less  than  twenty, 
six  of  these  complimentary  poems. 
The  first  is  from  Scudery,  who  bids  the 
stars  retire  because  the  sun  has  risen, 
and  who  is  florid  in  celebrating  '  La 
beaute  de  la  Veuve,  et  Tesprit  de  Cor- 
neille.' 

Another  is  fi-om  Mairet,  who 
addresses  Comeille  as  the  first  of  the 
beaux  esprits  to  revive  in  his  writings 
the  genius  of  Plautus  and  of  Terence. 
This  was  a  stock  allusion.     A  success- 


CORNEILLE 

ful  comic  writer  was  always  compared 
with  those  ancient  dramatists. 

There  were  tributes  from  Rotrou 
and  Du  Ryer.  Also  from  Bois-Robert 
and  Claveret.  Bois-Robert  is  brief  but 
most  partial  in  his  address  to  the '  Belle 
Veuve  adoree/  Claveret  writes  both 
an  epigram  and  a  madrigal.  These 
little  verses  may  be  read  with  profit 
when  we  come  to  study  the  attitude 
of  Bois-Robert,  Scudery,  Mairet,  and 
Claveret  towards  Corneille  some  three 
years  later.  With  the  exception  of 
Rotrou,  the  five  men  here  named 
as  contributing  to  the  poetic  eulogy 
became  the  bitterest  of  Corneille's 
enemies.  Claveret  in  particular  was 
brutal  in  his  personal  attacks. 

In  the  Galerie  du  Palais  Corneille 
for  the  first  time  dispensed  with  the 


CORNEILLE 

traditional  nurse,  a  part  that  was  inva- 
riably played  by  a  man  made  up  to 
represent  a  ridiculous  old  woman.  He 
also  put  upon  the  stage  a  scene  with 
which  every  spectator  was  perfectly 
familiar,  namely,  the  gallery  of  the 
Palais,  with  the  shops  of  a  bookseller, 
a  haberdasher,  and  a  dealer  in  linens 
and  silks.  Marty-Laveaux  comments 
on  the  attractiveness  of  the  device  for 
the  average  theatre-goer.  It  is  no  less 
potent  to-day,  and  is  undoubtedly  a 
legitimate  effect.  But  it  was  the  fore- 
runner of  a  type  of  realism  truly  bar- 
barous. We  have  seen  the  idea 
pushed  to  the  last  degree  of  absurdity 
at  the  present  time,  and  the  public  in 
spasms  of  delight  over  a  stage  sawmill 
or  a  real  load  of  hay.  The  success  of 
the  Galerie  du  Palais  was  not  due  to 


4^  ^^tggi  jIV 

CORNEILLE 

the  inoffensive  realism  of  the  stage  set- 
ting, but  to  the  sparkling  dialogue  and 
the  interesting  situations.  The  play 
had  a  more  favorable  reception  than 
anything  else  Corneille  wrote  up  to 
the  time  of  the  Cid. 

The  young  poet  was  now  sufH- 
ciently  celebrated  to  attract  the  notice 
of  Richelieu.  He  was  presented  to 
the  Cardinal.  A  number  of  interesting 
events  followed  upon  this  introduction. 
They  can  be  the  better  understood  if 
we  have  clearly  in  mind  Richelieu's 
attitude  toward  the  theatre  and  his 
immense  influence  as  a  patron  of  dra- 
matic art. 


"SI- 


II 

T 

xMxHE  Cardinal's  interest  in  the 
theatre  is  well  known.  It  was  not 
alone  his  avocation,  his  hobby,  but 
something  more:  it  was  his  passion. 
Every  moment  that  could  be  spared 
from  politics  was  given  to  the  stage. 
A  taste  for  dramatic  entertainment 
was  generally  diffused  at  this  time. 
The  public  was  unconsciously  get- 
ting ready  for  Corneille,  Moliere,  and 
Racine,  and  the  Cardinal  was  as 
unconsciously  helping  the  public  in 


CORNEILLE 


the  work  of  preparation.  Love  of  the 
theatre  '  tyrannized '  to  such  a  degree 
that  although  there  were  two  compa- 
nies of  players  in  Paris,  one  at  Hotel 
de  Bourgogne  and  one  at  the  Marais, 
Richelieu  felt  the  need  of  yet  a  third, 
and  created  the  troupe  of  the  Palais- 
Cardinal. 

The  Palais-Cardinal,  that  magnifi- 
cent residence  which  the  great  Minis- 
ter built  for  himself  when  he  found 
the  Petit-Luxembourg  '  unworthy '  of 
his  expanding  puissance,  was  begun 
in  1629  and  finished  in  1636.  The 
salle  de  spectacle  was  at  the  right  as 
one  entered  the  court  of  the  Palais. 
The  ambition  of  the  Cardinal  and  the 
skill  of  the  architect  Le  Mercier  had 
united  to  make  this  theatre  the  '  most 
admirable  in   Europe.'     Sauval   says 


CORNEILLE 

that  unfortunately  it  was  small,  but  its 
happy  proportions,  together  with  the 
skill  of  Jean  le  Maire,  the  decorator, 
produced  the  needed  effect  of  ampli- 
tude. 

Plays  and  ballets  were  given  here. 
For  example,  in  January,  1636,  Riche- 
lieu entertained  the  Queen,  Gaston, 
due  d'Orleans,  Mademoiselle,  the 
Prince  and  Princesse  de  Conde,  the 
Comtesse  de  Soissons,  the  Duchesse  de 
Lorraine,  and  the  entire  court,  with  a 
representation  of  la  Cleoriste  by  Baro. 
After  the  play  there  was  a  ballet  with 
an  unusual  novelty  introduced :  the 
dancers  served  a  collation  to  the 
guests. 

When  the  Due  de  Parme  was  in 
Paris,  during  February  of  that  same 
year,  Richelieu  received  him  at  his 
-+35-^ 


CORNEILLE 


palace  and  had  played  for  his  benefit 
the  Aspasie  by  Desmarests  de  Saint- 
Sorlin.  Music  was  rendered  between 
the  acts;  the  play  was  followed  by 
a  ballet,  and  the  ballet  by  a  supper. 
The  entertainment  lasted  three  hours. 
Pleasures  such  as  these  required 
more  than  ordinary  taste  and  skill. 
The  audience  was  critical,  and  the 
host  even  more  so.  Richelieu  was 
not  a  poet  or  even  a  good  prose 
writer,  though  he  is  credited  with  what 
few  people  possessed  in  those  days, 
a  sense  of  orthography.  But  it  was  a 
time  when  all  men  wrote,  and  all  wo- 
men read,  poetry.  The  poetry  may 
not  have  been  always  of  a  high  or- 
der, but  technically  it  was  admirable. 
There  were  more  people  who  under- 
stood the  theory  and  practice  of  the 


CORNEILLE 

art  than  could  be  got  together  any- 
where at  the  present  day.  And  the 
Cardinal  must  be  supposed  to  have 
had  a  measure  of  taste  in  that  about 
which  all  cultivated  people  knew 
something.  He  was  not  too  busy  to 
write  an  occasional  stanza  or  scene, 
and  never  too  busy  to  dispute  with 
his  poets  as  to  the  way  in  which  their 
verses  ought  to  be  written. 

In  1641  Mirame  was  presented  in 
the  large  theatre  of  the  Palais-Cardi- 
nal. Mirame  was  Richelieu's  favorite 
work.  He  lavished  money  upon  the 
production.  Mechanical  effects  of  a 
sort  to  which  the  public  was  little 
used  were  attempted;  the  sun  and 
the  moon  were  shown  in  the  act  of 
rising,  and  ships  passed  to  and  fro 
on  the  distant  sea.  The  Abbe  de 
^37^ 


CORNEILLE 

MaroUes,  who  was  present,  did  not 
find  these  novelties  particularly  enter- 
taining. He  held  to  the  doctrine,  as 
sound  as  it  is  old-fashioned,  that  the 
success  of  a  play  depends  upon  the 
recitation  of  the  parts  by  good  actors, 
the  inventive  ability  of  the  poet,  and 
beautiful  verses.  '  All  else  is  but  use- 
less embarrassment.' 

No  one  was  deceived  as  to  the  Car- 
dinal's relation  to  Mirame.  The  re- 
puted author  was  Desmarests,  but  that 
display  of  intense  solicitude  on  the 
Cardinal's  part  was  unquestionably 
paternal.  He  showed  the  liveliest 
satisfaction  when  certain  passages 
were  delivered.  At  times  he  was 
seen  quieting  the  spectators  immedi- 
ately about  him,  lest  they  should  fail 
to  comprehend  the  beauty  of  the 
^38^ 


CORNEILLE 

lines.  When  the  applause  was  to  his 
mind,  he  showed  himself  in  the  front 
of  his  box,  smiling  and  evidently  flat- 
tered. These  are  the  airs  of  a  dramatic 
author  responding  to  the  demands  of 
an  audience  eager  for  a  glimpse  of 
him  to  whom  they  owe  so  much  plea- 
sure. A  poet  by  profession,  by  gift, 
who  finds  himself  writing  plays  with 
such  a  collaborator,  is  not  in  an  alto- 
gether enviable  position. 

When  Corneille  was  presented  to 
the  Cardinal,  it  was  not  that  he  might 
receive  the  congratulations  and  the 
'  God-speed '  of  the  minister,  but  for 
a  purpose  which  looked  rather  more 
to  the  glory  of  the  statesman  than  to 
the  glory  of  the  poet.  Richelieu  in- 
vited Corneille  to  become  one  of  a  sort 
of  dramatic    commission   or  bureau. 


CORNEILLE 

The  function  of  this  bureau  was  to 
write  plays  under  the  Cardinal's  su- 
pervision. There  were  already  four 
members,  —  Colletet,  Bois  -  Robert,  ^ 
I'Estoile,  and  Rotrou ;  Corneille  made 
the  fifth.  It  is  believed  that  the 
Cardinal  furnished  the  plan;  the  poets 
did  the  actual  work.  They  are 
known  in  literary  history  as  the  'Five 
Authors.'  The  bureau  was  also  a 
time-saving  device.  Each  of  the 
poets  was  assigned  an  act  in  the  play, 
and  given  a  month  in  which  to  com- 
plete it.  Thus  the  entire  play  was 
composed  in  thirty  days.  One  mar- 
vels that  unity  of  effect  and  style 
could  be  expected  of  work  done  in 
this  extraordinary  fashion.  Collabo- 
ration is  always  a  mystery,  but  we 
have  grown  accustomed  to  the  idea 


CORNEILLE 

o{  two  persons  working  together  on  a 
novel  or  a  play ;  it  requires  an  effort 
of  mind  to  conceive  how  so  intricate 
a  literary  form  as  a  five-act  drama,  a 
form  which  requires  the  nicest  possi- 
ble relation  between  the  parts,  could 
have  been  wrought  with  such  speed, 
and  by  so  many  persons  each  of 
marked  individuality. 

In  1634  the  five  authors  composed 
the  piece  entitled  the  Comedie  des 
T'uileries,  Corneille  was  assigned  the 
third  act,  so  often  the  important  and 
critical  act  of  a  drama.  He  saw  in  it 
possibilities  which  had  escaped  the 
Cardinal's  eye.  This  is  not  surpris- 
ing; for  while  Corneille  was  not  as 
yet  the  'grand'  Corneille,  he  was  a 
dramatic  author  by  instinct  as  well  as 
by  considerable  practice.     His  natu- 


CORNEILLE 

ral  medium  of  expression  was  the 
dramatic.  He  ventured  to  change 
the  Cardinal's  plan  as  he  believed  for 
the  better,  and  received  that  famous 
reproof:  '' II  faut  avoir  de  V  esprit  de 
suited  The  Cardinal  has  been  ridi- 
culed for  this  criticism,  and  unjustly. 
'  When  five  poets  undertake  to  sink 
their  individualities  to  a  given  end,  one 
of  them  must  not  step  out  of  line.' 

From  this  incident  may  be  dated 
the  beginning  of  the  Cardinal's  antag- 
onism to  Corneille.  As  yet  it  ex- 
pressed itself  negatively,  by  allowing 
the  poet  to  withdraw  from  the  com- 
mission, and  by  stopping,  as  was  just, 
the  pension  which  was  paid  him  for 
work  done  in  collaboration  with  his 
Eminence.  Taschereau,  a  historian 
but  little  given  to  eulogizing  Riche- 


CORNEILLE 

lieu,  quotes  with  approval  Pellisson's 
remark  that  the  Cardinal  was  'very 
generous  toward  the  five  collabora- 
tors. In  addition  to  the  ordinary  pen- 
sion which  each  received,  he  lavished 
favors  upon  those  who  succeeded  ac- 
cording to  his  desire  : '  as  when  he 
gave  CoUetet  sixty  pistoles  for  six 
verses  describing  the  'carre  d'eau,' 
and  told  the  poet  that  the  king  was 
not  rich  enough  to  pay  for  the  rest. 
CoUetet  wrote  some  witty  lines  in  re- 
sponse, expressing  a  readiness  to  sell 
all  his  literary  work  on  the  same 
terms :  — 

^Armand,  qui  pour  six  vers  m* a  donne  six  cents 

livres 
^e  ne  puis-je  a  ce  pris    te    vendre   tous   mes 

livres  ! ' 

Corneille   was   not   of   those   who 


4^  ^^Jt^  ^^ 

CORNEILLE 

obtained  additional  favors.  He  paid 
the  penalty  of  not  being  docile  under 
the  strictures  of  the  most  influential 
dramatic  critic  of  the  Seventeenth 
Century.  He  went  back  to  his  home 
in  Rouen,  and  wrote  Medee  and  the 
Illusion  comique.  The  former  was  not 
wholly  a  success,  owing  to  the  long 
declamations  with  which  it  was  filled ; 
nevertheless,  it  marked  a  step  in  the 
right  direction,  and  announced  the 
Corneille  of  the  Cid  and  of  Polyeucte. 
The  Illusion  comique^  which  its  au- 
thor pronounced  a  '  strange  monster,' 
delighted  the  public.  It  is  a  piece  in 
the  Spanish  style,  but  has  no  proto- 
type so  far  as  is  known.  It  is  come- 
die  heroique,  and  may  be  accounted 
one  of  the  best  illustrations  of  Cor- 
neille's  versatility.  The  character  of 
-»-44-i- 


CORNEILLE 

the  Capitan  Matamore  was  new  to 
the  public,  or  at  least  new  in  come- 
dies of  this  elevated  type.  The  brag- 
gadocio had  been  hitherto  confined  to 
farces  and  low  comedy. 

About  this  time  Corneille's  atten- 
tion was  turned  to  the  study  of  the 
great  national  hero  of  Spain,  out  of 
which  study  was  fashioned  the  play 
that  was  to  make  him  famous. 

There  lived  in  Rouen  an  old  gen- 
tleman who  in  earlier  years  had  been 
secretary  to  Marie  de  Medicis.  He 
was  a  Monsieur  de  Chalon.  Cor- 
neille  went  to  see  him  one  day,  and 
the  old  gentleman  said :  '  Monsieur, 
the  type  of  drama  which  you  have 
taken  up  will  secure  for  you  only  a 
transient  glory.  But  you  will  find 
subjects  in  the  Spanish  which,  treated 


CORNEILLE 

according  to  our  taste  and  by  powers 
such  as  yours,  will  produce  great  ef- 
fects. Learn  Spanish ;  it  is  easy.  I 
will  help  you  until  you  are  in  a  posi- 
tion to  read  by  yourself  and  to  trans- 
late some  passages  from  Guillen  de 
Castro.'  He  placed  the  book  in 
Corneille's  hands,  the  story  runs. 
'  The  world  is  much  indebted  to  that 
Monsieur  de  Chalon,'  says  Jules  Le- 
maitre.  From  his  advice  and  the 
study  and  work  consequent  upon  it, 
came  that  masterpiece  of  the  classic 
French  drama,  the  Cid.  It  was  pro- 
duced at  the  Theatre  de  Marais  to- 
wards the  close  of  the  year  1636. 
From  this  moment  opened  a  new  and 
brilliant  chapter  in  the  history  of  the 
stage,  and  Comeille,  only  thirty  years 
of  age,  began  to  know  as  he  had  not 
-1-464- 


CORNEILLE 

known  before,  the  glory  and  the  un- 
happiness  of  success. 

The  Cid  was  mounted  with  un- 
usual care.  Mondory  had  realized 
its  immense  superiority  to  all  other 
pieces,  and  had  prepared  himself  for 
a  triumph.  The  costumes,  the  stage- 
setting,  all  the  equipments,  were  as 
perfect  as  they  could  be  made.  These 
things,  which  are  now  regarded  as  le- 
gitimate and  even  indispensable,  were 
afterwards  used  to  point  arguments 
against  Corneille.  He  was  not  only 
told  that  his  play  belonged  in  the  cat- 
egory of  poetical  compositions  '  which 
are  more  indebted  to  those  who  speak 
the  lines  than  to  the  poets  who  have 
written  them,'  but  he  was  also  re- 
proached for  the  generous  assistance 
rendered  by  the  stage  carpenter. 


CORNEILLE 

Only  at  long  intervals  does  the 
public  have  the  privilege  of  witness- 
ing the  first  production  of  a  mas- 
terpiece, and  even  then  the  public 
cannot  know  how  extraordinary  the 
privilege  is.  A  great  work  of  art  can 
hardly  be  appreciated  by  contempo- 
raries, and  especially  is  this  true  if  the 
work  be  dramatic.  A  play  is  the 
strangest  of  the  art  forms ;  to  be  suc- 
cessful, it  must  possess  those  superfi- 
cial qualities  which  take  the  eye  and 
have  the  price,  and  to  be  classic,  it 
must  have  those  qualities  which  lie 
beneath  the  surface  and  which  only 
the  next  generation,  and  the  next 
after  that,  can  understand  at  their  full 
value. 

In  order  to  appreciate  the  Cid  as  it 
was  appreciated  at  the  time  of  its  first 


CORNEILLE 

production,  one  ought  to  read  a  half- 
hundred  plays  by  Corneille's  immedi- 
ate predecessors.  After  a  course  of 
those  tragedies  and  tragi-comedies  in 
which  the  French  dramatic  instinct 
was  struggling  toward  perfection  of 
form  and  clarity  of  expression,  the 
reader  would  be  in  a  measure  pre- 
pared to  understand  how  the  superb 
energy  of  thought  and  matchless 
beauty  of  diction  appealed  to  an  au- 
dience comprehending  them  for  the 
first  time. 

The  Cid  is  not  only  a  capital  story 
dramatically  told  in  spirited  verse,  but 
it  is  also  a  picture  of  heroic  life  and 
manners.  It  portrays  the  struggle 
between  passion  and  filial  duty.  Chi- 
mene,  the  heroine  of  the  play,  loves 
and  is  loved  by  Don  Rodrigue,  after- 


CORNEILLE 

wards  known  as  the  'Cid.'  He  has 
not  the  splendid  ancestry  of  which 
another  suitor,  Don  Sanche,  is  able  to 
boast,  but  he  has  youth  and  courage. 
His  house  is  famed  for  its  warriors, 
and  his  aged  father  was  in  his  day  a 
marvel  of  valor.  It  is  the  girl's  wish 
and  secret  prayer  that  her  father,  the 
stately  Comte  de  Gormas,  may  ap- 
prove her  choice,  or  rather  that  he  | 
may  choose  for  her  and  as  she  would 
choose  for  herself  In  that  charming 
scene  between  Chimene  and  her  gou- 
vernante,  the  reader  learns  that  the 
Comte  de  Gormas  looks  with  satis- 
faction upon  the  prospect  of  an  alli- 
ance between  his  daughter  and  Don 
Rodrigue. 

The    Comte    is    aspirant    for   the 
honor  of  governor  to  the  Prince  of 
-H50+- 


i 


CORNEILLE 

Castile.  To  his  chagrin,  the  office  is 
conferred  upon  Don  Diegue,  father  of 
Don  Rodrigue.  They  talk  together, 
and  in  a  moment  of  irritation  the 
Comte  de  Gormas  strikes  the  old 
man.  To  avenge  the  insult,  young 
Don  Rodrigue  challenges  Don  Gor- 
mas and  kills  him  in  a  duel.  In  so 
doing  he  avenges  the  honor  of  his 
house,  but  he  robs  the  state  of  its 
greatest  warrior,  for  Comte  de  Gor- 
mas was  held  to  be  invincible.  He 
also  becomes  the  murderer  of  his 
betrothed's  father,  and  Chimene  de- 
mands his  life  in  expiation  of  the 
crime. 

The  interest  of  this  play  centres  In 
the  struggle  which  goes  on  in  Chi- 
mene's  heart.  The  girl's  love  for  Don 
Rodrigue  as   a  lover  contends   with 


CORNEILLE 

her  hatred  of  him  as  the  slayer  of  her 
father.  For  the  moment  hatred  seems 
to  triumph.  Chimene  is  superb  in 
her  implacability.  The  measure  of 
her  love  is  the  intensity  of  her  ardor 
for  the  punishment  of  the  murderer. 
Don  Rodrigue  is  none  the  less  her 
ideal  of  manhood,  youth,  and  chival- 
ric  grace  at  the  moment  she  implores 
the  king  for  vengeance.  And  the 
question  continually  arises  whether 
Chimene,  who  loathes  Don  Rodrigue 
as  a  murderer,  would  not  have  de- 
spised him  as  a  coward  had  he  failed 
in  the  piety  due  his  own  father. 

Don  Rodrigue  justifies  the  hopes 
centred  in  him  as  a  possible  de- 
fender of  his  native  land.  In  repell- 
ing the  assault  of  a  Moorish  army 
which  descends  upon  Seville,  he  per- 


CORNEILLE 

forms  deeds  of  valor  more  wonderful 
than  those  which  had  made  the  name 
of  his  father  famous.  He  saves  the 
state,  strengthens  the  hands  of  his 
king,  and  brings  back  from  the  field 
of  battle  as  captives  two  Moorish 
chieftains,  who,  struck  by  his  prowess, 
salute  him  as  their  lord  or  seyd,  that 
is,  '  Cid.' 

Chimene  is  persuaded  to  insist  no 
longer  upon  revenge.  She  owes  her 
own  personal  safety  to  the  achieve- 
ments of  Don  Rodrigue.  To  him  the 
nation  owes  its  existence,  and  thou- 
sands of  men,  women,  and  children 
their  lives  and  their  happiness.  The 
Cid  is  the  national  hero,  the  saviour 
of  his  country.  It  is  not  possible  now 
to  deal  with  him  as  an  impetuous 
youth,  over-quick  to  draw  the  sword 


CORNEILLE 

in  defence  of  a  father's  honor ;  he  has 
become  a  part  of  the  thought  of  every 
patriotic  Spaniard,  his  life  is  more 
precious  than  the  Hves  of  other  men. 
But  with  Don  Rodrigue  glory  counts 
for  nothing  while  Chimene  is  his 
enemy.  He  will  cheerfully  die  in 
preference  to  living  and  bearing  the 
burden  of  her  hate.  It  is  difficult  to 
imagine  a  plot  less  easy  of  solution. 
That  the  girl  should  marry  her  lover 
is  repugnant  to  one's  conception  of 
what  human  nature  is  or  can  be.  It 
is  almost  equally  repugnant  to  us  to 
think  of  Chimene  as  remaining  obdu- 
rate. Corneille  handles  the  narrative 
with  infinite  tact,  but  without  any  re- 
laxation in  his  firm  and  broad  treat- 
ment. The  reccKiciliation  of  the  lov- 
ers is  effected  through  the  influence 
-+54^ 


CORNEILLE 

of  the  king.  This  reconciliation  is 
not  so  complete  and  instantaneous  as 
to  jar  upon  the  spectator,  neither  is  it 
so  incomplete  as  to  leave  a  sense  of 
hopelessness  and  unrest. 

Victorin  Fabre,  in  his  *  eloge '  on 
Corneille,  describes  the  effect  pro- 
duced by  the  Cid  at  its  first  presenta- 
tion in  terms  so  eloquent  and  glow- 
ing as  almost  to  awaken  distrust. 
With  due  allowance  for  the  splendor 
of  the  theme  and  the  enthusiasm  of 
the  orator,  there  is  little  question  that 
the  play-going  world  was  immensely 
moved  on  this  occasion.  Paris  was 
enthusiastic,  and  the  court  not  less  so. 
The  tragedy  had  three  performances 
at  the  Louvre,  and  what  seems  strange 
to  us  in  the  light  of  subsequent 
events,  two  performances  at  the  pal- 


CORNEILLE 

ace  of  the  Cardinal.  Taschereau  says 
that  Richelieu,  '  not  wishing  to  appear 
piqued  by  such  a  triumph,  affected  to 
complete  the  success  '  by  opening  his 
own  theatre  to  the  fortunate  play. 
Not  only  were  the  usual  honors  in 
the  shape  of  applause  and  congratu- 
lations showered  upon  the  happy 
author,  but  at  the  queen's  request  a 
patent  of  nobility  was  conferred  upon 
Corneille's  father. 

The  Cid  was  the  chief  topic  of 
conversation.  The  public  wished  to 
see  nothing  else.  Richelieu  tried  to 
divert  attention  to  a  work  of  the  '  five 
authors,'  and  gave  a  representation  of 
the  Aveugle  de  Smyrne  at  his  palace 
before  the  king  and  the  court.  The 
time  was  not  well  chosen ;  the  Aveu- 
gle  de   Smyrne   only  helped  by  con- 


CORNEILLE 

trast  to  accentuate  the  transcendent 
splendors  of  the  Cid.  There  is  an 
often  quoted  letter  which  Mondory 
wrote  to  Balzac,  describing  the  enthu- 
siasm of  the  public  over  Corneille's 
tragedy.  Mondory  speaks  with  the 
honest  delight  of  one  who  knows  the 
satisfaction  of  playing  to  a  crowded 
house.  It  seems  that  the  social  tri- 
umph was  as  great  as  the  dramatic. 
People  accustomed  to  the  best  seats 
in  the  theatre  on  ordinary  occasions 
were  thankful  now  to  take  the  worst. 
Even  the  corners  and  out-of-the-way 
places,  where  the  pages  and  retainers 
usually  stood,  were  eagerly  sought  for 
by  the  quality. 

Pellisson's  testimony  is  conclusive. 
He  says :  '  It  is  difficult  to  imagine 
with  how  great  approbation  this  piece 


CORNEILLE 

was  received  by  the  court  and  the 
public.  People  could  not  weary  of 
seeing  it.  One  heard  nothing  else 
talked  of  in  society.  Every  one  knew 
some  portion  of  it  by  heart.  They 
taught  it  to  children,  and  in  some 
parts  of  France  it  passed  into  a  pro- 
verb to  say  of  a  thing  that  it  was  as 
"beautiful  as  the  Cidr' 

Nevertheless,  a  storm  was  gathering. 
Richelieu  was  not  pleased.  A  less 
tyrannical  personage  than  he  might 
have  been  irritated  to  find  that  a  hire- 
ling poet  without  I'esprit  de  suite 
could  work  so  magnificently  when 
released  from  his  superintendence. 
There  was  a  singular  rumor  in  circula- 
tion at  one  time  to  the  effect  that 
Richelieu  wished  to  buy  the  Cid^  have 
it  presented  under  his  patronage,  and 


CORNEILLE 

allow  it  to  pass  for  his  own  work. 
Verily,  they  tell  strange  tales  of  public 
men.  This  particular  story  has  gained 
credence  because  the  Cardinal  once 
offered  an  enormous  sum  for  a  piece 
called  the  Polyglotte^  by  Le  Jay.  If 
Tallemant  des  Reaux  is  to  be  believed, 
Richelieu's  anger  toward  the  success- 
ful play  reached  such  a  pitch  that 
Bois-Robert  tried  to  appease  and  divert 
him  by  writing  a  parody  on  the  Cid. 
This  burlesque  was  played  before  his 
Eminence  by  lackeys  and  scullions, 
and  it  is  to  be  hoped  had  the  desired 
effect. 

The  thing  is  not  improbable.  Men 
of  very  great  powers  are  often  ex- 
tremely childish  and  irritable  in  their 
diversions.  They  lose  temper  over  a 
game  of  chess  or  an  unlucky  play  in 


CORNEILLE 

golf,  and  are  philosophical  in  the  face 
of  real  trials  and  disappointments. 
The  theatre  was  Richelieu's  diversion. 
The  Cardinal  played  this  game  of  dra- 
matics with  his  whole  heart  and  mind, 
and  was  bitter  when  he  lost. 

Corneille  always  believed  that 
Richelieu,  together  with  some  person 
of  high  rank,  encouraged  Scudery,  Mai- 
ret,  and  others  to  make  an  attack  upon 
the  Cid,  Professional  jealousy  was  a 
motive  sufficient  to  account  for  the 
origin  of  the  attack,  and  to  explain  its 
peculiar  virulence.  But  professional 
jealousy  does  not  explain  the  sustained 
character,  the  unrelenting  continuity 
of  the  attack ;  that  must  be  accounted 
for  by  something  of  greater  force,  some- 
thing less  feverish  than  jealousy.  The 
hostile  party  were  sustained  by  the 
-I- 60  4- 


4^  /^t^  —^^ 

CORNEILLE 

consciousness  of  recommending  them- 
selves to  their  master;  they  rejoiced 
in  being  able  to  gratify  him  who  con- 
trolled both  political  and  poetical  re- 
wards. 

There  was  another  cause  for  irrita- 
tion. The  Cid  seemed  to  justify  the 
practice  of  duelling.  The  Cardinal 
had  tried  to  suppress  by  capital  pun- 
ishment the  passion  for  settling  ques- 
tions of  honor  at  the  point  of  the 
sword.  Men  were  barbarians  in  those 
days,  and  fought  on  the  most  trivial 
provocation.  Voltaire  says  somewhere 
that,  in  a  given  score  of  years,  of  which 
ten  were  years  of  war  and  ten  years  of 
nominal  peace,  more  French  gentle- 
men died  by  the  hands  of  Frenchmen 
than  by  the  hands  of  their  enemies. 
But   the  Cardinal   had   even  greater 


CORNEILLE 

cause  for  anger  in  seeing  how,  after  he 
had  employed  his  magnificent  powers 
in  abasing  the  House  of  Austria,  a 
mere  provincial  poet  could  awaken  a 
burst  of  enthusiasm  in  favor  of  Spanish 
ideals  of  chivalry  and  a  Spanish  na- 
tional hero.  Fontenelle  declares  that 
Richelieu  was  as  alarmed  as  if  he  had 
seen  the  Spaniards  at  the  gates  of 
Paris. 


•62- 


M^  ^^ 

III 

^^^ORNEILLE  himself  precipi- 
tated the  'quarrel  of  the  Cid'  He 
was  not  only  guilty  of  being  success- 
ful, but  in  the  eyes  of  his  rivals  the 
crime  became  heinous  when  he  ven- 
tured to  boast  of  success.  Shortly 
after  his  triumph  the  poet  printed  the 
lines  entitled  Excuse  a  Ariste.  In 
apologizing,  half  in  jest  and  half  in 
earnest,  to  a  friend  who  had  asked  him 
to  write  a  song,  Corneille  justifies  his 
disinclination  by  the  character  of  his 
■h.63h^ 


CORNEILLE 

genius.  His  mind  is  restive  amid  the 
restrictions  imposed  by  petty  verses, 
but  it  loves  an  eagle-like  flight  amid 
the  clouds.  He  claims  the  right  to 
speak  frankly  of  himself  as  is  the  cus- 
tom of  the  age.  '  I  know  my  worth,' 
he  says ;  '  I  have  organized  no  league 
to  compel  admiration.  I  have  few 
voices  raised  in  my  favor,  but  I  have 
those  without  solicitation.  My  work 
goes  to  the  theatre  without  other  sup- 
port; any  one  is  free  to  praise  it  or  to 
blame.  I  satisfy  courtiers  and  people 
alike.  In  all  places  my  verses  are  my 
only  partisans.  By  their  beauty  alone 
is  my  pen  valued,  and  all  my  renown 
I  owe  to  myself,  and  only  to  myself  '  ^ 

^  Je  sais  ce  que  je  vaux,  et  crois  ce  qu'on  m'en  dit. 
Pour  me  faire  admirer,  je  ne  fais  point  de  ligue: 
-H-64-J- 


CORNEILLE 

The  apparent  vanity  of  these  stanzas 
is  explained  by  that  universal  expla- 
nation, the  custom  of  the  times.  Peo- 
ple were  naive.  They  boasted  of  their 
virtues.  Shakespeare  said  that  neither 
monuments  nor  the  tombs  of  princes 

J'ai  peu  de  voix  pour  moi,  mais  je  les  ai  sans 

brigue; 
Et  mon  ambition,  pour  faire  plus  de  bruit, 
Ne  les  va  point  queter  de  reduit  en  reduit. 
Mon  travail  sans  appui  monte  sur  le  theatre: 
Chacun  en  liberte  I'y  blame  ou  Pidolatre; 
La,  sans  que  mes  amis  prechent  leurs  sentiments, 
J'arrache  quelquefois  trop  d'applaudissements; 
La,  content  du  succes  que  le  merite  donne. 
Par  d'illustres  avis  je  n'eblouis  personne. 
Je  satisfais  ensemble  et  peuple  et  courtisans, 
Et  mes  vers  en  tous  lieux  sonts  mes  seuls  partisans; 
Par  leur  seule  beaute  ma  plume  est  estimee, 
Et  pense  toutefois  n' avoir  point  de  rival 
A  qui  je  passe  tort  en  le  traitant  d'egal. 

Excuse  a  Ariste, 


CORNEILLE 

should  outlive  his  powerful  rhyme. 
What  chances  a  poet  takes  in  utter- 
ing a  boast  like  that !  Corneille  held 
much  the  same  belief  with  respect  to 
himself,  and  so  far  both  Shakespeare 
and  Corneille  have  been  justified  in 
their  noble  vanity.  But  such  frank- 
ness is  not  for  this  century.  If  Csesar 
had  been  a  modern  commander,  he 
would  not  have  been  allowed  to 
'  drench  his  good  qualities  in  his  first 
person  singular '  as  he  did  in  that  fa- 
mous despatch  announcing  his  victory 
at  Zela  over  Pharnaces.  Men  who 
achieve  at  the  present  time  have  but 
one  recourse,  which  is  to  be  praised 
in  the  newspapers  and  send  marked 
copies  to  their  friends. 

The  Excuse  a  Ariste   greatly  irri- 
tated Corneille's  fellow  dramatists.    It 


CORNEILLE 

was  easy  to  pervert  the  meaning  of 
that  line,  'Je  ne  dois  qu'a  moi  seul 
toute  ma  renommee,'  and  to  tell  Cor- 
neille  that  he  was  a  plagiarist  who 
owed  his  renown  entirely  to  Guillen 
de  Castro.  Mairet^  wrote  and  pub- 
lished anonymously  some  stanzas  in 
which  he  makes  the  'true  author  of 
the  Cid'  demand  back  the  verses  of 
which  Corneille  had  robbed  him :  '  To 
me  thou  owest  all  thy  renown/  It  was 
almost  another  case  of  '  the  upstart 
crow    beautified    with    our    feathers.' 

^  Jean  de  Mairet  (i  604-1 686),  one  of  the 
most  precocious  dramatic  poets  of  the  Seventeenth 
Century.  His  Chryseide  et  Arimand  was  writ- 
ten before  he  had  completed  his  eighteenth  year. 
Silvie,  Sihanire,  Sophonisbey  and  the  Galanteries 
du  due  d^  Ossone  are  his  more  noteworthy  com- 
positions. 


CORNEILLE 

The  motive  which  led  Scudery  and 
Mairet  to  attack  Corneille  was  pre- 
cisely that  which  prompted  Greene  to 
attack  Shakespeare,  to  wit,  professional 
jealousy,  hatred  of  a  rival  in  whom 
a  moderate  success  would  have  been 
fitting,  but  who  becomes  detestable 
as  soon  as  he  becomes  triumphant. 

In  resenting  Corneille's  claim  to 
originality,  and  in  reminding  him  of 
his  debt  to  Guillen  de  Castro,  his  crit- 
ics were  not  speaking  from  the  point 
of  view  of  those  who  were  themselves 
always  original,  and  who,  having  no 
need  to  borrow,  abstained  from  the 
practice  of  which  he  had  been  guilty. 
On  the  contrary,  the  notable  fact  about 
the  French  drama  from  1630  to  1660 
was  its  lack  of  originality.  Dramatic 
authors  not  only  did  not  invent,  but 


CORNEILLE 

they  did  not  even  pretend  to  invent. 
They  borrowed  right  and  left,  and 
boasted  the  extent  of  their  obHgations. 
Reynier  says  that  they  hardly  seemed 
to  suspect  that  there  might  be  merit  in 
originality.  'In  their  prefaces  they 
plumed  themselves  not  upon  the  exer- 
cise of  their  imaginative  powers,  but 
upon  the  happy  choice  of  a  model.' 
They  drew  from  every  source,  the 
ancients,  mediaeval  poets  and  drama- 
tists, modern  novelists,  and  above  all 
from  the  Spanish  playwrights.  Cor- 
neille's  contemporaries  did  not  mean 
to  accuse  him  of  plagiarism  as  the 
term  is  commonly  used,  for  all  were 
plagiarists  alike.  The  greater  part  of 
the  comedies  of  Bois-Robert  were 
taken  from  Spanish  sources,  and  Rey- 
nier bluntly  calls  them  '  translations.' 
-i-69-»- 


CORNEILLE 

Even  if  we  grant  that  Corneille  bor- 
rowed to  the  full  extent  charged  by 
his  most  hostile  critics,  he  would  still 
be  '  original '  compared  with  his  con- 
temporaries. *  Originality '  of  inven- 
tion in  the  drama  and  in  poetry  gen- 
erally is  a  question  that  no  longer 
troubles  us.  Who  stops  nowadays  to 
question  the  originality  of  the  Idylls 
of  the  King?  Who  would  be  so 
foolish  as  to  ask  whether  the  Earthly 
Paradise  could  be  called  an  original 
work  ? 

Corneille  was  right  in  saying  that 
he  owed  his  renown  to  himself  alone. 
The  Spanish  drama  lent  him  much, 
but  it  could  not  teach  him  how  to 
write  the  most  stately  and  beautiful 
verse  that  had  been  heard  up  to  that 
time  upon  the  French  stage.  Neither 
•H'70-*- 


CORNEILLE 

could  it  teach  him  the  art  of  being 
ruggedly  independent  in  situations 
where  Scudery  took  refuge  in  bombast 
and  biting  of  the  thumb,  and  where 
Bois-Robert  was  cringing  and  officious. 
Guizot  once  made  a  happy  and 
penetrating  remark  on  this  question 
of  originality.  He  said  that  genius 
was  as  necessary  for  choosing  well  and 
imitating  happily  as  for  inventing  out- 
right. The  whole  field  of  Spanish 
dramatic  literature  was  open  to  Cor- 
neille's  contemporaries  as  well  as  to 
himself;  but  Corneille  was  the  only 
one  who  had  the  wit  to  see  the  possi- 
bilities in  the  story  of  the  Cid  and  in 
the  plot  of  the  Menteur} 

^  Guizot:  Corneille  et  son  temps .    Paris,  1858, 
p.  201. 


CORNEILLE 

Corneille  was  not  the  man  to  allow 
Mairet's  attack  to  go  unnoticed.  He 
made  a  counter  attack  in  a  rondeau  so 
bitter  in  tone  that  his  most  stalwart 
admirers  do  not  entirely  defend  it. 
The  publication  of  the  rondeau  had 
the  effect  of  stirring  up  a  new  antago- 
nist. There  appeared  an  anonymous 
pamphlet  entitled  Observations  on  the 
Cid.  The  rhetorical  flourish  of  trum- 
pets with  which  the  piece  opened  pro- 
claimed its  authorship.  It  was  by 
Georges  de  Scudery,^  a  prolific  play- 
wright, the  brother  of  the  famous 
Madeleine  de  Scudery,  and  later  the 
governor    of  the   fortress   of  Notre- 

^  Georges  de  Scudery  (i  601-1667).  Among 
his  best  known  plays  are  Lygdamon  et  Lydiasy  the 
Trompeur  puni,  the  Comedie  des  Comediensy  and 
the  Amant  liberal, 

■^•72h- 


CORNEILLE 

Dame-de-la-Garde.  He  was  a  man  of 
great  self-esteem.  A  modern  critic 
dubs  him  '  Scudery  le  capitaine  Fra- 
casse/  The  fortress  of  which  he  had 
charge  stood  upon  a  high  rock.  The 
Marquise  de  Rambouillet  said  that 
she  could  not  imagine  de  Scudery  in 
command  of  a  fortress  which  was  situ- 
ated in  a  valley.  She  used  to  picture 
him  in  the  act  of  living  up  to  his  con- 
ception of  his  importance,  '  with  head 
touching  the  clouds,  his  look  fixed 
with  contempt  upon  all  beneath  him.' 
Scudery  declares  that  in  penning 
his  criticism  he  is  not  making  a  satire 
or  a  defamatory  pamphlet,  but  a  few 
'simple  observations.'  He  does  not 
distinguish  accurately  between  libel 
and  criticism.  He  says  of  the  Cid 
that  'the  subject  itself  is  absolutely 
■H-73-*- 


CORNEILLE 

valueless:  that  the  play  violates  the 
principal  rules  of  dramatic  poetry:  that 
there  is  lack  of  judgment  in  its  man- 
agement: that  it  contains  many  bad 
verses :  that  almost  all  the  beauty  it 
has  is  concealed :  and  that  the  esteem 
in  which  it  is  held  is  unjustly  high.' 
He  makes  his  points  with  infinite  self- 
confidence.  If  the  story  of  the  Cid 
had  any  dramatic  virtue,  the  honor  of 
it,  he  says,  would  belong  to  its  Spanish 
adapter,  Guillen  de  Castro,  and  not  to 
the  French  '  translator.'  But  as  a  sub- 
ject for  a  play  it  is  valueless  because 
there  is  no  intrigue,  no  Gordian  knot 
to  be  unloosed.  Nothing  is  held  in 
suspense.  The  dullest  spectator  knows 
the  end  from  the  beginning.  More- 
over the  play  violates  that  law  of  the 
drama  which  insists  that  a  story  shall 


CORNEILLE 

not  run  contrary  to  the  probable  course 
of  human  action  in  given  circum- 
stances. No  doubt  Chinene  married 
Don  Rodrigue,  it  is  a  fact  of  history ; 
but  it  is  most  unHkely  and  altogether 
unnatural  that  a  young  woman  of 
honor  should  wed  her  father's  mur- 
derer. A  fact  may  be  useful  to  the 
historian  which  is  of  no  value  what- 
ever to  the  poet. 

After  twenty-four  pages  of  criticism 
in  this  sort,  Scudery  takes  up  the  versi- 
fication. He  accuses  Corneille  of  us- 
ing words  that  are  vulgar  and  unfit  for 
poetry,  of  writing  French  with  Ger- 
man constructions,  of  extravagance  of 
expression,  of  employing  a  word  with- 
out any  particular  meaning  simply  to 
make  a  rhyme.  If  Scudery  had  been 
a  professor  of  literature  rewriting  the 


CORNEILLE 

poems  of  Keats,  he  could  not  have 
been  more  exacting. 

To  this  attack  Corneille  replied  in 
a  little  pamphlet  which  has  been 
described  as  a  model  of  style;  it  is 
entitled,  Lettre  apologetique  du  sieur 
Corneille^  contenant  sa  reponse  aux  Ob- 
servations faites  par  le  sieur  Scudiry 
sur  le  Cid.  After  the  publication  of 
this  letter,  Scudery  appealed  to  the 
Academy  to  judge  between  them. 
The  Cardinal  insisted  th^t  the  Acad- 
emy pronounce  upon  the  question, 
and  through  Bois-Robert  secured  Cor- 
neille's  consent  to  such  pronounce- 
ment. In  the  mean  time  the  quarrel 
became  general. 

Corneille  was  indignant  that  men 
who  professed  to  be  his  friends  should 
have  assailed  him  anonymously.     He 


CORNEILLE 

thought  it  ungenerous  in  Mairet  to 
accuse  him  of  plagiarism,  and  con- 
temptible in  Claveret,  another  pre- 
tended friend,  to  distribute  Mairet's 
verses  about  Paris.  In  the  Lettre 
apologetique  Corneille  gives  vent  to  his 
indignation.  He  mentions  Claveret 
by  name,  and  couples  the  name  with 
a  plain  and  truthful  phrase.  Claveret 
took  umbrage  at  the  expression  and 
attacked  Corneille.  Having  little  to 
offer  in  the  way  of  argument,  he  de- 
scended to  abuse.  He  says  to  Cor- 
neille: 'Bear  in  mind  that  in  prose 
you  are  the  most  impertinent  of  those 
who  know  how  to  talk.  The  coldness 
and  stupidity  of  your  nature  are  such 
that  your  conversation  excites  pity 
among  all  who  endure  your  visits.  In 
good  society  and  in  the  eyes  of  culti- 


CORNEILLE 

vated  people  you  pass  for  the  most 
ridiculous  of  men.' 

This  was  cruel,  and  the  more  cruel 
because  it  was  partly  true.  Corneille 
was  not  a  good  converser.  He  as- 
tonished admirers  by  his  incapability 
when  for  the  first  time  they  heard  him 
talk.  Ideas  came  to  him  readily  in 
the  literary  work-shop,  but  not  in  the 
drawing-room.  He  would  hesitate, 
become  embarrassed,  '  take  one  word 
for  another,'  almost  break  down. 
Conde  said  of  Corneille  that  it  was 
only  possible  to  understand  him  at 
Hotel  de  Bourgogne.  The  poet  freely 
acknowledged  it.  '  I  have  a  fertile 
pen  and  a  sterile  mouth,'  he  said  in 
that  little  pen-portrait  of  himself  which 
he  addressed  to  Pellisson.  He  was 
by  his  own  confession  '  an  excellent 
-+78^ 


CORNEILLE 

gallant  at  the  theatre  and  a  very  bad 
one  in  society.'  But  people  who 
knew  him  had  learned  not  to  judge 
him  by  his  ability  at  small  talk. 

A  torrent  of  pamphlets  came  from 
the  press,  some  defending  Corneille, 
others  attacking  him,  others  still  tak- 
ing a  neutral  attitude.  The  fecundity 
of  the  disputants  was  amazing.  Col- 
porteurs sold  the  pamphlets  in  the 
street  as  newsboys  cry  their  extras  at 
the  present  day.  It  is  impossible  now 
to  identify  the  writers  in  every  case, 
but  the  chief  parties  to  the  quarrel, 
Corneille  on  the  one  hand,  Scudery, 
Mairet,  and  Claveret  on  the  other, 
signed  a  number  of  their  papers.  Ro- 
trou,^  a  man  of  fine  spirit  and  a  poet 

^  Jean  Rotrou  (i  609-1 650).    His  best  works 


CORNEILLE 

of  genius,  remained  loyal  to  Corneille, 
but  his  attitude  was  more  conciliatory 
than  partisan  in  this  affair. 

Mairet  was  roughly  handled  by  Cor- 
neille's  friends  and  became  very  angry. 
He  had  no  humor.  He  wished  to 
make  his  enemy  a  target  for  invec- 
tive, but  was  unwilling  to  be  used  in 
like  fashion.  He  wrote  the  Epitre 
familiere  du  sieur  Mairet  au  sieur  CoV" 
neille  sur  la  tragi-comidie  du  Cid^  '  in 
which,'  says  Taschereau,  'he  com- 
pared the  works  of  Corneille  with  his 
own  and  did  not  hesitate  to  give  him- 
self the  preference ;  this  was  both  natu- 
ral and  easy.'     Again,  one  cannot  too 

are  Saint-Genest,  Don  Bernard  de  Cabrere, 
Vencelas,  and  Cosroes,  He  was  without  doubt 
the  most  gifted  dramatic  poet  of  his  time  after 
Corneille. 


CORNEILLE 

much  admire  the  naivete  of  dramatic 
authors  in  1637.  They  had  unshaken 
confidence  in  their  own  powers,  and 
the  serenity  of  children  in  the  way 
in  which  they  tried  to  do  themselves 
justice.  They  would  not  have  been 
patient  under  the  discipline  of  '  Let 
another  praise  thee.' 

The  hostilities  might  have  contin- 
ued no  one  knows  how  long,  had  not 
the  Cardinal  interfered.  Richelieu, 
'  whose  sole  desire  was  to  arrest  the 
growing  reputation  of  Corneille,  but 
who  wished  the  arrest  to  be  brought 
about  by  other  means  than  personal 
quarrels,  interposed  his  authority.' 
He  had  Bois-Robert  write  to  Mairet 
that  so  long  as  these  pamphlets  dis- 
played only  innocent  raillery  and 
lively  combats  of  wit,  he  was  much 


CORNEILLE 

diverted.  But  when  he  saw  them 
become  injurious  and  threatening,  he 
determined  to  stop  their  course.  He 
therefore  commanded  Mairet,  if  he 
desired  the  continuation  of  the  Cardi- 
nal's good  graces,  to  put  his  injuries 
underfoot.  A  like  injunction  was 
sent  to  Corneille.  In  brief,  there  was 
to  be  a  truce. 

In  the  letter  to  Mairet,  Bois-Robert 
added  a  few  words  on  his  own  account, 
or  at  least  pretended  that  he  did.  *  Up 
to  this  point  I  have  spoken  by  the 
mouth  of  His  Eminence,  but  to  tell 
you  truly  what  I  think  of  your  pro- 
cedure, I  believe  that  you  have  suffi- 
ciently punished  poor  Monsieur  Cor- 
neille  for  his  vanities,  and  that  his  feeble 
defence  does  not  demand  arms  so 
strong  and  penetrating  as  yours.    One 


CORNEILLE 

of  these  days  you  will  see  his  Cid  very 
ill  treated  by  the  Sentiments  of  the 
Academy,  The  printing  of  the  piece 
is  well  under  way,  and  if  you  come 
to  Paris  this  month,  I  will  send  it  to 
you.' 

The  relations  between  Richelieu  and 
Bois-Robert  were  never  better  exem- 
plified than  in  this  letter.  In  the  first 
paragraphs  we  have  the  Cardinal  com- 
manding peace,  and  in  the  latter  para- 
graphs Bois-Robert,  who  in  a  case  like 
this  is  always  the  Cardinal  speaking 
unofficially,  giving  a  covert  thrust  at 
the  reputation  of  that  '  poor  Monsieur 
Corneille.'  The  method  was  abso- 
lutely perfect.  'I  couldn't  lie  and 
so  I  got  Harris  to  do  it,'  was  the  ob- 
servation of  a  wit  who  understood 
human  nature  better  than  do  most 
^83^ 


CORNEILLE 

men.  The  Cardinal  could  not  descend 
to  personal  abuse  and  threats,  but  he 
had  only  to  lift  his  eyebrows  and  Bois- 
Robert  did  the  ungracious  task. 

For  the  present  the  dispute  was 
raised  officially  to  a  higher  plane. 
The  attack  upon  Corneille  promised 
to  be  none  the  less  determined  be- 
cause it  was  to  be  conducted  by  an 
army  of  critics,  and  there  was  every 
indication  that  it  would  be  much 
more  effective. 

Scudery,  as  we  have  already  noted, 
had  made  an  appeal  to  the  Academy. 
'  He  bravely  transformed  the  duel 
into  a  law-suit,'  says  the  Abbe  Fabre. 
His  document  was  a  little  pamphlet 
of  eleven  pages  entitled,  Lettre  de 
M.  de  Scudery  a  Vlllustre  Academie. 
The  author  says :  '  Since  M.  Corneille 
^84^ 


CORNEILLE 

has  taken  off  my  mask  and  desires  the 
public  to  know  who  I  am,  I  profess 
myself  too  well  accustomed  to  appear- 
ing among  people  of  quality  to  wish 
still  to  hide  myself  ...  In  truth,  since 
he  desires  that  all  the  world  shall  know 
that  I  am  called  Scudery,  I  confess 
it.  I  shall  never  blush  for  that  name 
which  many  worthy  people  have  borne 
before  me,  seeing  that  I,  no  more  than 
they,  have  done  anything  unworthy 
of  a  man  of  honor.  But  as  it  is  in- 
glorious to  strike  an  enemy  whom  one 
has  hurled  to  the  ground,  although 
the  enemy  utters  maledictions,  and 
since  it  is  but  just  to  allow  the  afflicted 
though  culpable  the  right  of  com- 
plaint, I  do  not  wish  to  reply  to  his 
outrages,  nor  like  him  to  turn  an  aca- 
demic dispute  into  a  contest  in  Bil- 


CORNEILLE 

lingsgate,  or  a  lyceum  into  a  public 
market/ 

This  lofty  tone  on  the  part  of  a  man 
whose  dignity  was  purely  on  the  out- 
side, and  not  dignity  of  thought  or  of 
character,  has  amused  the  commenta- 
tors. Scudery  goes  on  to  affirm  that 
the  success  of  the  Cid  is  not  due  to  the 
poet,  but  to  the  actors  who  presented 
the  over-praised  and  by  no  means  sur- 
passingly excellent  tragedy.  How  was 
it  possible,  then,  that  he  should  be 
envious  of  a  piece  which  has  so  many 
faults,  and  the  beauties  of  which  are 
only  such  as  have  been  given  to  it  by 
the  actors,  Mondory,  La  Villiers,  and 
their  companions  ?  '  However,  your 
illustrious  body  shall  judge  between 
us.' 

Scudery's  tone  indicates  that  he  felt 


CORNEILLE 

sure  of  his  ground.  Was  he  so  con- 
vinced of  the  justice  of  his  cause  as  to 
believe  it  impossible  for  discerning 
men  to  think  other  than  he  himself 
thought  ?  Or  had  the  Cardinal  in  a 
moment  of  over-confidence  promised 
Scudery  that  the  decision  should  be 
adverse  ?  There  is  much  to  convince 
the  student  that  Richelieu  took  for 
granted  an  almost  slavish  obsequious- 
ness on  the  part  of  the  Academy  to 
his  known  or  implied  wish.  In  the 
light  of  what  followed,  we  can  hardly 
overestimate  the  extent  of  his  dis- 
appointment. The  English  are  not 
the  only  stiff-necked  and  independent 
race  in  Europe  as  their  own  historians 
would  have  us  believe.  No  English 
legislative  body  bent  on  maintaining 
its  rights  and  the  rights  of  the  people 


CORNEILLE 

could  have  held  out  more  tenaciously 
than  did  the  Parliament  of  Paris  when 
it  was  a  question  of  registering  the 
edict  for  the  establishment  of  the  Aca- 
demic fran9aise.  That  same  Academy 
in  turn  required  extraordinary  pres- 
sure to  compel  it  to  do  its  duty  by 
the  Cardinal  its  Protector.  One  can 
but  liken  this  body  to  an  energetic, 
vigorous,  opinionated  boy,  who  re- 
quires both  coaxing  and  threats  to 
make  him  do  what  his  judgment  and 
his  prejudices  rebel  against.  He  yields 
at  last,  but  he  yields  unwillingly  and 
with  mental  reservations. 

It  was  with  more  than  common 
unwillingness  that  the  Academy  un- 
dertook the  task  of  censuring  Cor- 
neille's  tragedy.  The  members  tried 
all  reasonable   ways  of  evading   the 


CORNEILLE 

point  at  issue.  They  excused  them- 
selves on  the  ground  of  youth  and 
unpreparedness.  They  appealed  to 
their  statutes,  which  forbade  them  to 
pass  judgment  upon  the  writings  of 
men  not  of  their  body  unless  such 
judgment  was  particularly  asked  for  ; 
the  Cardinal  forced  Corneille  to  ask 
for  the  Academy's  opinion.  Not 
only  was  an  opinion  wrung  from 
them,  but  extraordinary  pains  were 
taken  by  the  Cardinal  to  insure  an 
unfavorable  opinion.  In  this  he  par- 
tially failed.  These  facts  do  not 
point  to  an  excess  of  obsequiousness 
on  the  part  of  the  Academy. 

After  all,  why  should  the  Cid  be 
exempt  from  criticism  more  than  an- 
other play  ?  That  it  was  immeasur- 
ably better  than  any  other  play  of  the 


CORNEILLE 

time  is  not  equivalent  to  saying  that 
it  was  absolutely  beyond  criticism. 
It  is  not  thought  sacrilege  to  speak  of 
its  faults  at  the  present  day.  I  take 
up  Boissier's  monograph  on  Madame 
de  Sevigne  and  find  him  commenting 
on  the  Cid  as  if  its  '  inequalities  of 
tone,  its  haughty  familiarities,  and  its 
rudenesses  of  touch  *  were  a  matter  of 
course,  perfectly  understood  by  all 
critics,  and  not  offensive  to  Corneille's 
audience  because  the  audience  had 
not  yet  risen  to  the  conception  of  a 
*  more  scrupulous  finish,  a  more  sus- 
tained dignity  and  elegance.'  If  it  is 
permitted  to  speak  thus  of  Corneille 
in  the  Nineteenth  Century,  how  much 
more  so  in  the  Seventeenth.  Cor- 
neille and  his  genius  were  not  as  yet 
sacred,  and  the  enduring  virtues  of 


CORNEILLE 

great  poetical  works  can  only  be  seen 
at  long  range.  To  his  contempora- 
ries, no  man  can  be  a  classic ;  at  least 
there  will  be  strong  opposition  when 
an  attempt  is  made  prematurely  to 
elevate  a  poet  to  a  station  among 
immortal  bards.  This  is  one  of  the 
things  we  are  bound  to  keep  in  mind, 
especially  when  we  find  ourselves  in- 
clined to  grow  angry  at  the  hard 
treatment  meted  out  to  him  by  Cor- 
neille's  fellows.  He  was  simply  one 
of  themselves.  Many  a  man  has  seen 
Shelley  plain  and  liked  him  consider- 
ably less  on  that  account. 

On  June  16,  1637,  a  commission 
was  appointed  to  examine  the  Cid 
and  Scudery's  Observations.  There 
were  three  members,  Bourzeys,  Chape- 
lain,  and  Desmarests  de  Saint-Sorlin. 


CORNEILLE 

Another  commission,  consisting  of 
Cerisy,  Gombauld,  and  Baro,  had  for 
a  special  task  the  examination  of  the 
verse.  They  dehberated  in  ordinary 
and  extraordinary  sessions,  and  after 
summing  up  the  results  of  their  la- 
bors, turned  over  the  materials  to 
Chapelain,  who  drew  up  the  final  pa- 
per and  presented  it  to  the  Cardinal. 
The  latter  was  so  confident  of  success 
that  he  suggested  '  throwing  in  a 
handful  of  flowers  here  and  there.' 
The  memoir  was  then  returned  to  the 
Academy  for  the  finishing  touches. 
This  task  fell  to  Serizay,  Cerisy, 
Gombauld,  and  Sirmond.  On  com- 
pletion the  paper  was  sent  to  press 
and  the  earlier  pages  transmitted  to 
the  Cardinal.  He  read  them,  and 
immediately  ordered   the   impression 


CORNEILLE 

stopped.  In  suggesting  a  '  few  flow- 
ers,' the  Cardinal  had  not  meant  that 
everything  was  to  be  smothered  in 
rose  leaves.  The  severity  of  the  criti- 
cisms had  been  too  greatly  mitigated. 
This  was  Cerisy's  doing.  The  gener- 
ous abbe's  feeling  toward  the  Cid  was 
of  hearty  admiration ;  he  wished  it 
might  have  been  his  privilege  to  write 
such  a  work.  Chapelain  attempted 
to  defend  his  fellow  Academician,  but 
presently  desisted,  knowing  Riche- 
lieu's intolerance  of  contradiction. 
For  he  saw  that  the  Cardinal  was 
beginning  to  grow  heated  over  the 
question.  Pellisson  has  a  lively  little 
picture  of  the  scene.  Richelieu  took 
Chapelain  by  the  tassels  of  his  collar 
all  the  time  he  talked,  'as  one  does 
without  thinking  when  one  wishes  to 


CORNEILLE 

be  emphatic  or  to  convince  some  one 
of  a  certain  thing ; '  in  this  way  they 
used  to  '  button-hole  '  a  man. 

The  committee  perfectly  under- 
stood what  the  Cardinal  was  after,  and 
Sirmond  undertook  to  reedit  the  pa- 
per. He  failed,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  'his  style  was  very  good  and 
entirely  free  from  affectation.'  We 
have  a  right  to  suspect  that  it  was 
not  a  case  where  improvement  in 
the  style  could  satisfy.  The  Cardinal 
wanted  his  literary  enemy  condemned, 
and  he  found  difficulty  in  bringing  it 
about.  In  something  like  despair  he 
returned  to  the  original  sketch  made 
by  Chapelain.  This  was  printed  with 
very  few  corrections  or  other  changes, 
and  is  the  official  utterance  of  the 
Academic  fran9aise  on  the  great  ques- 


CORNEILLE 

tion  which  had  agitated  so  many 
minds  during  so  long  a  period.  The 
exact  title  as  given  in  Gaste's  reprint 
is :  Les  Sentimens  de  T  Acadimie  fran- 
^oise  sur  la  tragi-comidie  du  CID,  It 
bears  the  date  1638,  but  was  printed 
toward  the  close  of  1637. 

It  has  been  criticised  in  turn  from 
every  point  of  view  and  in  every 
shade  of  critical  temper.  These  opin- 
ions vary  from  the  bitterly  hostile  to 
the  complacently  approving.  Parti- 
sans and  devotees  of  Corneille  are  no 
better  pleased  with  the  pamphlet  now 
than  was  Corneille  himself  when  it 
first  appeared. 

Knowing  as  we  do  that  Chapelain 
was  the  principal  author  of  the  Senti- 
ments^ it  is  not  difficult  to  explain  its 
narrowness  of  view.     Chapelain  wrote 


CORNEILLE 

in  verse,  not  because  he  had  the  di- 
vine gift  of  song,  but  because  he  had 
determined  to  become  a  poet.  Verse 
was  not  his  natural  vehicle  of  expres- 
sion. He  composed  poetry  '  as  a  bird 
walks.'  Never  having  been  wafted 
away  on  '  song's  bright  pinions,'  he 
was  incapable  of  understanding  the 
flights  and  raptures  of  a  genuine  poet. 
He  was  bound  to  be  critical,  wise, 
unimpassioned,and  without  sympathy. 
It  was  natural  that  he  should  look 
askance  at  a  work  so  gloriously  spon- 
taneous as  the  Cid.  Being  what  he 
was,  how  could  he  help  running  a 
blue  pencil  mark  through  this,  and  a 
red  pencil  mark  through  that  ? 

Furthermore,  he  was  the  embodi- 
ment of  law,  the  personification  of  the 
Academic   spirit.      There   would   be 


CORNEILLE 

eminent  fitness  in  regarding  Chape- 
lain  as  the  inventor  of  the  Three  Uni- 
ties, even  if  there  were  less  historic 
ground  than  really  exists  for  so  re- 
garding him.  More  than  any  other 
writer  he  gave  the  doctrine  form  and 
expression.  What  had  been,  hith- 
erto, vague,  intangible,  and  of  little 
authority,  became  in  his  hands  'a 
dogma  and  an  orthodoxy.'  Other 
men  had  seized  upon  a  point  here 
and  a  point  there ;  Chapelain  grasped 
the  doctrine  in  its  entirety  and  stated 
it  with  classical  precision.  He  con- 
verted Richelieu,  who  in  turn  con- 
verted others.  The  circles  of  influ- 
ence widened  until  all  the  dramatic 
poets  were  more  or  less  affected.  The 
converts  were  not  invariably  true  to 
the  new  profession  of  faith ;  but  when 


CORNEILLE 

they  went  astray,  they  were  sure  to 
apologize,  to  explain,  or  even  to  try 
desperately  '  to  juggle  with  the  rules/ 
For  the  moment  '  law '  triumphed. 
It  were  asking  too  much  of  human 
nature  to  demand  that  Chapelain,  the 
most  conspicuous  leader  in  the  war 
of  the  Unities,  judge  the  Cid  hy  other 
standards  than  those  which,  in  his 
heart  of  hearts,  he  believed  to  be  cor- 
rect. Such  a  man  will  create  the  im- 
pression of  narrowness  in  the  very 
effort  to  be  just. 

In  one  way  the  Sentiments  was  a 
novelty  —  it  was  gentleman-like  in 
manner.  Therefore  it  may  be  ac- 
counted an  extraordinary  production 
for  the  times.  All  the  hostile  pam- 
phlets lacked  urbanity,  and  not  a  few 
were  positively  brutal.  One  of  the 
-1-98  •»- 


CORNEILLE 

disputants  affirmed  that  Corneille's 
proper  place  was  in  a  hospital  for  idi- 
ots ;  another  threatened  to  cane  him 
with  a  view  to  curing  him  of  poetic 
vanity.  '  In  spite  of  certain  exagger- 
ations .  .  .  the  general  tone  of  the 
Sentiments  is  remarkable  for  extreme 
moderation,  remarkable  also  for  the 
elegance,  distinction,  and  urbanity  of 
the  language.' 

If  Richelieu  had  small  reason  to  be 
satisfied,  Scudery  had  even  less.  The 
'  capitan '  was  handled  with  courte- 
ous severity.  Chapelain  seems  to 
take  malicious  satisfaction  in  explain- 
ing how  often  in  his  critique  Scudery 
misses  the  real  point ;  the  objection  is 
justly  made,  but  the  reason  assigned  is 
bad  or  foolish. 

Were  it  only  for  its  urbanity,  the 


CORNEILLE 

Sentiments  would  take  a  high  rank  in 
critical  literature.  Chapelain  may  be 
pardoned  his  attitude  towards  a  poem 
of  which  the  most  sublime  and  peren- 
nial beauties  must  after  all  have  been 
hidden  from  his  gaze.  If  he  saw  de- 
fects in  the  Cid^  he  also  acknowledged 
its  fine  qualities.  He  granted  that  it 
was  '  irregular/  but  he  reminded  the 
readers  that  the  defect  was  common 
in  the  dramatic  works  of  the  time,  and 
was  Corneille  to  be  condemned  be- 
cause he  had  not  wrought  miracles  ? 


lOOH 


IV 

^^^ORNEILLE'S  discouragement 
was  great,  as  may  be  imagined.  That 
proud  faith  in  the  stability  of  his 
powerful  rhyme  was  not  sufficient  to 
restore  his  mental  equilibrium.  He 
seems  to  have  had  the  feeling  of 
one  who  has  been  bruised,  hounded, 
lacerated  even,  a  state  of  mind  most 
unfavorable  to  poetic  composition. 
And  there  was  something  of  timidity 
mixed  with  his  profession  of  confi- 
dence. 


CORNEILLE 

We  get  a  vivid  picture  of  all  this 
from  a  letter  written  by  Chapelain 
to  Balzac  early  in  1639.  Chapelain 
speaks  of  Corneille's  return  to  Paris 
three  days  since,  and  says  that  the  poet 
has  been  to  see  him,  and  has  accused 
him, '  not  without  reason,'  of  being  the 
principal  author  of  the  Sentiments. 
*  He  has  accomplished  nothing  more,' 
continues  Chapelain,  '  and  Scudery  in 
quarreling  with  him  has  gained  that 
much;  he  has  made  Corneille  dis- 
gusted with  work  and  has  dried  up  his 
vein.  I  animated  and  encouraged 
'  him  as  much  as  I  could  to  avenge  him- 
self both  on  Scudery  and  his  protector 
[the  Academy]  by  making  a  new  Cid 
to  win  the  suffrages  of  the  world  ; .  .  . 
but  there  was  no  way  of  persuading 
him,  and  he  talked  only  of  the  rules. 


CORNEILLE 

and  of  the  things  he  was  able  to  say 
in  response  to  the  Academicians  were 
he  not  afraid  of  offending  those  in 
authority.' 

This  is  the  picture  of  a  man  wholly 
discouraged.  But  it  is  pleasant  to 
have  Chapelain's  word  for  it  that  he 
tried  to  arouse  Corneille's  interest  in 
his  mission  as  a  poet.  The  advice 
was  sound,  albeit  it  came  from  a  critic 
who  was  the  unwilling  instrument  of 
a  good  deal  of  the  torture  that  had 
been  inflicted  upon  Corneille.  There 
was  but  one  way  in  which  the  author 
of  the  Cid  could  really  vindicate  him- 
self, and  that  was  by  writing  another 
poem  just  as  good  as  the  Cid.  Chape- 
lain  has  been  so  universally  abused 
during  the  centuries  that  I  am  confi- 
dent he  must  have  had  conspicuous 


CORNEILLE 

virtues.  I  should  be  glad  to  think 
that  his  advice  had  some  weight  with 
the  poet,  and  that  among  the  im- 
pulses which  led  to  the  composition 
of  Horace  was  the  word  spoken 
that  morning  at  Chapelain's  house. 
Within  a  year  from  that  time  the  new 
play  was  finished.  It  was  presented 
either  in  January  or  February  of  1 640, 
and  won  universal  approval.  There 
was  talk  of  a  cabal  against  it,  but 
nothing  appeared  in  print.  Comeille 
said  proudly :  '  Horace  was  condemned 
by  the  Duumvirs  but  acquitted  by  the 
people.'  Horace  was  the  first  of  the 
French  tragedies  to  conform  absolutely 
to  the  rules.  The  poet  had  meditated 
to  good  purpose.  The  classic  drama 
now  came  to  perfect  flower.  The 
triumph  was  the  greater  because  Cor- 
^i04-«- 


CORNEILLE 

neille  showed  in  this  play  that  fetter 
his  genius  as  the  pedants  would,  it  was 
still  a  transcendent  genius.  After 
Horace,  nothing  was  left  for  the  critics 
to  say. 

I  am  one  of  those  who  hold  that  he 
who  was  not  born  to  the  inheritance 
of  a  certain  language  will  always  find 
insuperable  obstacles  to  a  thorough 
comprehension  of  the  high  poetry  of 
that  language.  This  does  not  mean 
that  no  one  but  a  Frenchman  can 
understand  Comeille;  it  means  that 
there  are  subtle  beauties  in  Corneille 
which  only  a  Frenchman  can  under- 
stand. The  Germans  teach  us  many 
new  things  about  Shakespeare,  things 
undreamt  of  in  our  homely  philosophy. 
We  still  plod  along  in  the  old  belief 
that  Shakespeare  wrote  his  plays  partly 
^105  H- 


CORNEILLE 


from  the  love  of  writing,  partly  because 
it  was  his  business  to  write  plays, 
partly  because  he  had  a  family  to 
maintain  and  a  theatre  to  fill,  and  in 
very  large  part  because  he  was  a  poet 
by  instinct  and  was  bound  by  the  law 
of  his  being  to  express  himself  But 
the  German  scholars,  who  would  have 
us  believe  that  Shakespeare  designed 
to  teach  any  one  of  a  hundred  remark- 
able doctrines  in  his  drama,  cannot 
with  all  their  erudition  help  us  in  the 
least  to  that  supreme  enjoyment  which 
is  ours  because  English  is  our  native 
tongue. 

This  play  of  Horace  has  its  recon- 
dite charms  which  appeal  only  to  the 
French  mind,  its  delicacies  of  versifi- 
cation which  only  the  French  ear  can 
appreciate ;  but  at  the  same  time  there 
^io6-i- 


CORNEILLE 

is  no  tragedy  by  the  great  master 
which  makes  so  direct  and  strong  an 
appeal  to  reader  or  hearer  through 
qualities  in  the  highest  degree  popular. 
The  texture  of  the  piece  is  firmly  knit. 
The  plot  is  striking  and  cumulative 
in  interest.  The  language  is  ener- 
getic, every  phrase,  every  word,  preg- 
nant with  meaning.  If  any  poet  or 
any  play  can  make  a  patriotism  so 
exalted  seem  both  possible  and  real, 
Corneille  is  the  poet  to  do  it,  and 
Horace  the  play.  We  perhaps  get 
a  better  idea  of  the  logic  of  the  dra- 
matic form  from  Horace  than  from 
any  other  piece.  The  march  of 
events  is  irresistible.  The  various 
scenes  and  acts  are  perfect  in  them- 
selves and  yet  inalienably  the  parts  of 
a  great  whole.     It  is  a  superb  illustra- 

-4-  107 +- 


CORNEILLE 

agreed  that  the  dispute  shall  be  set- 
tled by  a  combat  between  six  chosen 
warriors,  three  for  Rome,  three  for 
Albe.  The  defenders  of  Rome  are 
Horace  and  his  brothers;  the  de- 
fenders of  the  cause  of  the  mother  city 
are  Curiace  and  his  brothers.  There 
is  a  notable  scene  in  the  second  act 
which  shows  Curiace  and  Horace  in 
marked  .(Contrast.  The  great  Roman 
warrior  has  been  told  of  his  election  to 
the  high  office  of  defender  of  his  city. 
He  questions  the  wisdom  of  the 
choice,  but  is  ravished  at  the  thought 
that  he  is  held  worthy  to  take  into 
his  keeping  the  destinies  of  the  state. 
Flavian  then  enters,  bringing  the  word 
to  Curiace  that  he  has  been  chosen  to 
defend  the  cause  of  Albe.  Curiace 
shudders  at  the  thought  of  lifting  his 

-4-  IIO-*- 


CORNEILLE 

hand  against  the  brother  of  his  be- 
trothed, against  his  sister's  husband. 
To  Horace,  whose  ecstasy  of  patri- 
otism has  a  touch  of  the  barbaric  in  it, 
there  is  a  higher  virtue  and  a  greater 
joy  in  the  sacrifice  of  those  whom 
one  holds  most  dear  to  the  good  of 
the  country. 

Corneille  follows  Livy  closely  in 
his  narrative  of  the  actual  combat. 
Horace  alone  returns  from  the  battle- 
field, accompanied  by  Procule  bear- 
ing the  swords  of  the  three  Curiaces. 
He  calls  on  his  sister  to  rejoice  in  that 
victory  which,  though  it  has  brought 
death  to  her  lover,  has  brought  life  to 
the  state.  Camille,  more  human  than 
Horace,  cannot  rise  to  a  patriotism  so 
splendid,  so  self-abnegatory,  and  at 
the  same  time  so  brutal.     She  bursts 


CORNEILLE 

agreed  that  the  dispute  shall  be  set- 
tled by  a  combat  between  six  chosen 
warriors,  three  for  Rome,  three  for 
Albe.  The  defenders  of  Rome  are 
Horace  and  his  brothers;  the  de- 
fenders of  the  cause  of  the  mother  city 
are  Curiace  and  his  brothers.  There 
is  a  notable  scene  in  the  second  act 
which  shows  Curiace  and  Horace  in 
marked  ,pontrast.  The  great  Roman 
warrior  has  been  told  of  his  election  to 
the  high  office  of  defender  of  his  city. 
He  questions  the  wisdom  of  the 
choice,  but  is  ravished  at  the  thought 
that  he  is  held  worthy  to  take  into 
his  keeping  the  destinies  of  the  state. 
Flavian  then  enters,  bringing  the  word 
to  Curiace  that  he  has  been  chosen  to 
defend  the  cause  of  Albe.  Curiace 
shudders  at  the  thought  of  lifting  his 


CORNEILLE 

hand  against  the  brother  of  his  be- 
trothed, against  his  sister's  husband. 
To  Horace,  whose  ecstasy  of  patri- 
otism has  a  touch  of  the  barbaric  in  it, 
there  is  a  higher  virtue  and  a  greater 
joy  in  the  sacrifice  of  those  whom 
one  holds  most  dear  to  the  good  of 
the  country. 

Corneille  follows  Livy  closely  in 
his  narrative  of  the  actual  combat. 
Horace  alone  returns  from  the  battle- 
field, accompanied  by  Procule  bear- 
ing the  swords  of  the  three  Curiaces. 
He  calls  on  his  sister  to  rejoice  in  that 
victory  which,  though  it  has  brought 
death  to  her  lover,  has  brought  life  to 
the  state.  Camille,  more  human  than 
Horace,  cannot  rise  to  a  patriotism  so 
splendid,  so  self-abnegatory,  and  at 
the  same  time  so  brutal.     She  bursts 


CORNEILLE 

into  that  passionate  denunciation  be- 
ginning — 

Rome,  l^ unique  objet  de  mon  ressentiment ! 

and  is  slain  by  Horace  as  a  traitress. 
Horace  is  pardoned,  because  the  in- 
terests of  the  state  are  greater  and 
more  vital  than  the  interests  of  an 
individual. 

Was  it  courage  or  sheer  audacity, 
ironical  humor  or  self-interest,  which 
prompted  Corneille  to  dedicate  this 
tragedy  of  Horace  to  Cardinal  Riche- 
lieu? In  the  light  of  the  events 
which  had  just  taken  place,  one  would 
scarcely  think  of  his  Eminence  as  the 
person  to  whom  the  honor  rightfully 
belonged.  Moreover,  there  are  phrases 
in  this  dedicatory  epistle  which,  if  not 
servile,  —  and  Corneille  was  too  open- 
minded  and  honest  to  be  servile  in 


CORNEILLE 

the  grosser  meaning  of  the  word,  — 
must  be  interpreted  as  irony  of  the 
most  daring  sort.  Voltaire,  that  scor- 
pion of  kings  and  prelates,  believed 
that  Corneille  meant  to  be  ironical, 
and  quotes  in  proof  of  it  the  sonnet 
which  the  poet  wrote  after  the  death 
of  Louis  XIII. 

I  cannot  see  an  absolute  lack  of 
independence  in  the  phrasing  of  this 
dedication.  We  must  consider  the 
times.  Men  rendered  unto  Csesar 
the  things  that  were  Csesar's,  includ- 
ing florid  ascriptions  of  praise.  As 
the  bows  were  more  profound  than 
now,  so  the  language  in  which  one 
addressed  those  great  in  station  was 
highly  colored,  mannered,  pictur- 
esque. Where  society  was  as  thor- 
oughly organized  as  in  the  first  half 


CORNEILLE 

of  the  Seventeenth  Century,  men  and 
women  went  through  their  parts  like 
soldiers.  They  were  drilled  into  the 
observance  of  forms  and  taught  rever- 
ence for  customs.  One  was  able  to 
see  what  Ruskin  wanted  to  see  in  our 
day,  kings  with  their  crowns  on  their 
heads  and  bishops  with  their  croziers 
in  their  hands.  If  one  entered  into 
this  society,  he  must  conform  to  its 
laws.  Not  every  prince  will  have  the 
wit  or  the  patience  of  Charles  II,  who 
took  off  his  own  hat  when  George 
Fox  refused  to  uncover.  Corneille 
addressed  Richelieu  in  the  sophisti- 
cated and  insincere  phrases  of  a  pub- 
lic dedication,  which  one  might  be- 
lieve or  not,  but  the  form  of  which 
was  predetermined,  and  as  rigid  as  a 
court  costume. 


.1^^  ^^ta^  -^ 

CORNEILLE 

So  far  as  the  fact  is  concerned,  it 
remains  for  some  daring  critic  to  sug- 
gest that  Richelieu  asked  for  the  ded- 
ication, that  is  to  say,  made  known 
his  willingness  to  accept  it.  We 
must  not  forget  the  imperious  quality 
of  Corneille's  genius.  He  was  the 
idol  of  the  public.  He  was  adored 
of  Hotel  de  Rambouillet.  Thirty- 
three  years  after  the  production  of 
Horace^  Madame  de  Sevigne  said,  'I 
am  crazy  over  Corneille.'  All  the 
world  was  in  that  condition  in  1640. 
The  man  was  so  immeasurably  supe- 
rior to  his  dramatic  contemporaries 
that  the  fact  was  blindingly  signifi- 
cant. He  who  denied  was  as  one 
who  denied  the  existence  of  the  sun 
from  whose  rays  he  was  that  moment 
seeking    shelter.     There    is    nothing 


4^ fisAA^  /^^fc 

CORNEILLE 

fantastic  in  the  supposition  that  Cor- 
neille  knew  beforehand  that  his  dedi- 
cation would  be  acceptable  to  Riche- 
lieu. 

The  poet  laments  that  the  gift  he 
brings  is  so  little  worthy  of  the  Cardi- 
nal, and  so  ill  proportioned  to  what  is 
due.  The  choice  of  a  subject  cannot 
be  condemned  at  any  rate ;  and  Cor- 
neille  feels  that  he  has  guarantee  of 
this  in  the  words  of  Livy,  who  said  of 
the  story  of  Horatius, '  There  is  hardly 
anything  more  noble  in  all  the  past.' 
'The  subject,'  says  Corneille,  'was 
susceptible  of  the  highest  graces 
could  it  have  been  treated  by  a  more 
skilful  hand ;  but  at  least  it  has  re- 
ceived from  mine  all  of  which  that 
hand  was  capable,  and  all  that  could 
reasonably  be  expected  from  a  pro- 
-^  ii6h^ 


CORNEILLE 

vincial  muse,  who  not  being  so  happy 
as  often  to  enjoy  the  attentions  of 
Your  Eminence,  has  not  that  lamp 
to  her  feet  by  which  others  are  contin- 
ually lighted.'  The  phrases  did  not 
sound  grotesque  to  people  who  read 
them  in  1640;  they  are  grotesque 
to  us  who  reflect  how  little  Scudery 
and  I'Estoile  were  able  to  accomplish, 
though  illuminated  daily  by  those 
favorable  glances  which  Corneille's 
provincial  muse  had  to  do  without. 

Cinnuy  on  la  clemence  cTAuguste^ 
dates  from  this  same  year,  1640.  The 
story  is  based  on  an  episode  in  the 
life  of  Octavian.  Emilie,  daughter  of 
Toranius,  seeks  to  avenge  the  death  of 
her  father,  who  was  proscribed  during 
the  Triumvirate.  She  is  one  of  Cor- 
neille's most  characteristic  heroines, 
^  117-!- 


CORNEILLE 

beautiful,  steadfast,  implacable.  Her 
lover,  Cinna,  a  grandson  of  Pompee, 
and  therefore  Octavian's  enemy  by- 
political  inheritance,  is  the  chief  of  a 
conspiracy  to  overthrow  the  govern- 
ment and  murder  the  Emperor.  Both 
Emilie  and  Cinna  are  recipients  of 
many  favors  and  of  high  honors  at  the 
emperor's  hands.  Cinna  has  moments 
of  doubt,  in  which  he  almost  repents 
of  his  undertaking.  Emilie,  less  infirm 
of  purpose,  holds  her  lover  to  his  pa- 
triotic mission,  and  makes  the  emper- 
or's life  the  price  of  her  hand.  When 
their  plot  is  discovered  and  they  are 
brought  before  Auguste,  each  tries  to 
defend  the  other.  Emilie  takes  the 
blame  upon  herself,  protesting  that 
she  had  tempted  Cinna  to  join  the 
conspiracy,  as  she  had  tempted  many 


CORNEILLE 

besides.  She  offers  herself  as  a  vic- 
tim, though  she  cannot  hope  that  her 
lover  will  be  spared  because  of  her 
self-accusation.  When  a  crime  has 
been  committed  against  the  state, 
there  is  no  excuse.  To  die  in  Cin- 
na's  presence  and  rejoin  her  father,  — 
that  is  her  only  hope  and  prayer. 

Cinna,  anxious  to  save  her  life, 
declares  that  he  alone  must  bear  the 
responsibility.  He  had  laid  this  plan 
long  before  he  loved  her.  She  was 
at  first  inflexible,  and  only  yielded 
when  he  made  appeal  to  her  wish  to 
take  vengeance  for  her  father's  death. 
Auguste,  in  whose  mind  there  has 
been  a  struggle  between  the  desire  to 
forgive  and  the  desire  to  punish,  tri- 
umphs over  any  ungenerous  motive, 
and  in  the  greatness  of  his  soul  par- 


CORNEILLE 

dons  both  conspirators.  He  unites 
them  to  each  other  in  wedlock,  and 
to  himself  by  every  bond  which  grati- 
tude and  admiration  can  suggest. 

The  tragedy  of  Cinna  was  dedicated 
to  Montauron,  who  was  so  flattered 
thereby  that  he  gave  the  author  two 
hundred  pistoles,  a  fabulous  sum  even 
in  that  period  of  reckless  expendi- 
ture. Montauron  was  instantly  turned 
into  a  proverb.  A  particularly  florid 
dedication,  and  one  likely  on  that 
account  to  elicit  a  handsome  gift,  was 
always  spoken  of  as  a  dedication  '  a 
la  Montauron.'  The  expression  was 
all  the  better  for  being  true.  The 
gentleman  was  noted  for  his  liberality 
towards  men  of  letters.  It  is  a  pity 
for  their  sake  that  his  money  did  not 
last  longer.     Marty-Laveaux  quotes 

-»-  I20-I- 


CORNEILLE 

from  Gueret's  Parnasse  reformi  two 
articles,  which  show  how  the  financier's 
name  was  the  su'bject  of  envious  sport 
in  the  fraternity  of  writers.  Among 
the  reforms  proposed  were  these  :  '  Ar- 
ticle X,  It  is  forbidden  to  He  in  dedi- 
catory epistles ; '  and  '  Article  XII,  All 
dedications  a  la  Montauron  are  to  be 
suppressed.' 

Polyeucte^  martyr^  was  produced  in 
1643.  This  'tragedie  chretienne '  is 
Corneille's  masterpiece.  The  story  is 
briefly  this :  — 

Pauline,  daughter  of  Felix,  the 
Ptoman  governor  of  Armenia,  has 
married  Polyeucte,  an  Armenian  lord. 
In  Rome  she  had  been  beloved  by 
Severe,  a  brilliant  young  soldier,  and 
had  loved  him  in  return.  Her  father's 
appointment  to  the  governorship,  and 

-J.I2I  H- 


CORNEILLE 

his  natural  opposition  to  accepting  as 
son-in-law  a  man  who  had  his  fortune 
yet  to  make,  puts  an  end  to  the  hopes 
of  Pauline  and  Severe.  The  girl  fol- 
lows her  father  to  his  province,  the 
soldier  seeks  renown  through  a  heroic 
death. 

Polyeucte  becomes  enamored  of 
Pauline.  She  marries  him  because 
her  father  desires  it.  By  this  alliance 
with  a  powerful  Armenian  house, 
Felix  hopes  to  strengthen  his  influence 
in  the  province.  Pauline  gives  her 
husband  from  duty  an  affection  which 
she  could  have  given  Severe  from  in- 
clination. Among  the  varied  interests 
in  this  fine  play,  there  is  but  one  more 
absorbing  than  the  growth  of  Pauline's 
love  for  her  husband.  As  she  realizes 
the  greatness  of  his  soul,  his  generosity, 

-J.  122-*- 


CORNEILLE 

his  self-forgetfulness,  Pauline's  mea- 
sured respect  and  tempered  obedience 
grow  into  pride  and  admiration,  then 
into  passion,  culminating  as  the  action 
of  the  play  proceeds  in  the  desire  for 
martyrdom  with  Polyeucte. 

Severe  was  not  killed  in  battle  as  had 
been  believed.  After  heroic  deeds 
and  many  adventures,  he  has  risen  to 
high  rank,  and  has  become  the  favorite 
of  the  Emperor  Decie.  He  is  now 
on  his  way  to  the  capital  of  Armenia, 
ostensibly  to  take  part  in  the  great 
public  sacrifices,  really  to  claim  Pau- 
line. Felix  is  in  distress  at  his 
approach.  So,  too,  is  Pauline,  who  has 
been  warned  in  a  dream  that  Severe's 
coming  means  not  alone  reproaches, 
but  disaster  and  death. 

Polyeucte,   though    a    convert    to 


CORNEILLE 

Christianity,  has  made  no  public  con- 
fession of  his  belief  Spurred  on  by 
the  exhortations  of  Nearque,  his  friend, 
he  rises  to  that  height  of  zeal  which 
was  characteristic  of  the  early  martyrs, 
and  denounces  the  old  gods  in  the 
very  temple  at  the  hour  of  the  public 
sacrifices.  The  two  Christians  are 
thrown  into  prison.  Nearque  is  put 
to  death  at  once;  Polyeucte,  as  a  noble- 
man and  the  son-in-law  of  the  governor, 
is  given  an  opportunity  to  recant. 

The  most  subtly  planned  devices 
cannot  shake  his  faith,  while  the  bru- 
tality of  persecution  and  torture  only 
serves  to  confirm  it.  He  sees  the  pun- 
ishment of  Nearque  and  is  filled  with 
envy.  Confronted  with  his  wife,  who 
pleads  with  him  to  recant  and  aban- 
don  these    ridiculous    phantasms  of 


CORNEILLE 

the  Christian  belief,  he  finds  himself 
put  to  the  severest  test.  But  he  is 
unshaken.  Pauline  pleads  her  love  ; 
she  reminds  him  of  his  rank,  his  influ- 
ence, of  his  noble  deeds  and  his  rare 
qualities.  The  appeal  to  love  and 
ambition  are  alike  useless.  Polyeucte 
loves  Pauline,  —  less  than  his  God, 
but  better  far  than  himself  He  has 
ambition,  but  for  a  happiness  '  without 
measure  and  without  end.'  He  is 
lifted  to  so  exalted  a  height  of  self- 
abandonment  that  he  begs  Severe  to 
accept  at  his  hands  the  greatest  of  his 
treasures  and  the  one  of  which  he  is 
the  least  worthy,  —  Pauline. 

Though  the  death  of  Polyeucte  will 
leave  Severe  free  to  marry  Pauline, 
his  generous  nature  revolts  against  a 
persecution  so  odious.    He  urges  Felix 


CORNEILLE 

to  relax  the  law  against  Christians. 
The  governor  fears  a  plot  to  betray 
him  for  weakness  in  administering  the 
affairs  of  the  province.  He  can  prove 
his  sincerity  by  putting  his  son-in-law 
to  death.  He  thinks  to  meet  craft  with 
craft;  and  though  the  people  clamor 
for  Polyeucte's  release,  while  Severe 
warns,  and  Pauline  begs  with  an  elo- 
quence born  of  a  love  that  almost  sur- 
passes human  love,  Felix  is  unmoved. 
Polyeucte  suffers  martyrdom.  His 
death  opens  Pauline's  eyes  to  the  truth. 
'  I  see,  I  understand,  I  believe ! '  she 
cries.  Baptized  in  the  blood  of  her 
tortured  and  dying  husband,  she  be- 
comes a  Christian,  and  calls  upon  her 
unnatural  father  to  save  his  credit  with 
the  Emperor  by  subjecting  herself  to 
martyrdom.  We  can  believe  in  the 
^126-4- 


CORNEILLE 

sincerity  of  Pauline's  conversion ;  it  is 
not  so  easy  to  accept  as  logical  from 
the  dramatic  point  of  view,  or  possible 
from  the  human,  the  sudden  conversion 
of  Felix.  Threatened  by  Severe,  who 
as  the  Emperor's  favorite  is  not  likely 
to  utter  idle  threats,  Felix  avows  him- 
self a  Christian,  and  offers  his  life  with 
that  of  Pauline  as  a  sacrifice  to  the 
outraged  Pagan  deities.  Severe  for- 
gives, and  with  a  largeness  of  soul 
characteristic  of  a  noble  Roman,  pro- 
mises that  persecution  of  the  Christians 
shall  cease. 

Brunetiere's  striking  remark,  quoted 
before,  about  the  relation  that  Corneille 
sustained  to  the  precieuses  was  based 
upon  study  too  broad  and  profound 
to  require  the  corroboration  of  a  mere 
anecdote.     But  as  one  of  the  objects 


CORNEILLE 

of  this  little  series  of  studies  is  to  show 
the  variety  and  extent  of  the  influences 
emanating  from  Hotel  de  Rambouillet, 
the  anecdote  is  in  place  here. 

Before  Polyeucte  was  put  upon  the 
stage,  Corneille  read  the  play  at  Hotel 
de  Rambouillet.  '  It  was  received 
with  the  applause  which  politeness  and 
the  great  reputation  of  the  author  re- 
quired. But  several  days  afterward 
Monsieur  Voiture  came  to  see  Mon- 
sieur Corneille,  in  order  to  explain  to 
him,  with  much  delicate  circumlocu- 
tion, that  Polyeucte  had  not  succeeded 
to  the  extent  its  author  imagined ;  that 
especially  was  it  displeasing  in  its 
religiosity  (Christianisme).  Monsieur 
Corneille,  alarmed,  wished  to  withdraw 
the  piece  from  the  hands  of  the  come- 
dians  who   had    undertaken  it;    but 


CORNEILLE 

finally  left  it  with  them  upon  the  judg- 
ment of  one  of  their  number,  who  did 
not,  however,  play  in  it  because  he  was 
a  very  poor  actor.'  Fontenelle,  who 
tells  the  story,  adds :  '  Was  it,  then,  for 
this  comedian  to  judge  better  than  all 
Hotel  de  Rambouillet  ? ' 

Everybody  knows  that  many  an 
actor  whose  powers  are  not  equal  to 
the  performance  of  a  part  in  a  great 
tragedy  may  be  an  excellent  judge  of 
the  dramatic  possibilities  of  that  same 
tragedy.  One  would  like  to  know  to 
what  extent  Voiture  was  empowered 
to  speak  for  '  all  Hotel  de  Rambouil- 
let.' Moreover,  since  Hotel  de  Ram- 
bouillet had  three  years  before  defended 
Corneille  against  the  Cardinal  and  his 
hosts,  it  had  earned  the  right  to  an 
expression  of  opinion.     And  we  must 


CORNEILLE 

always  remember  that  the  poet  was  as 
yet  only  a  successful  dramatist,  who 
had  not  reached  his  thirty-fifth  year, 
and  whose  work  could  not  mean  to 
his  contemporaries  what  it  means  to 
us,  consecrated  as  it  now  is  by  the  dis- 
criminating praise  of  two  and  a  half 
centuries. 


'-in"*!' 


•I30H 


Ji^  f^ 


^^^ORNEILLE'S  genius  reached 
its  highest  point  of  development  in 
Polyeucte.  In  creating  this  passionate 
martyr,  whose  ardent  spirit  has  re- 
minded one  critic  of  Saint  Paul,  John 
Huss,  Calvin,  and  Prince  Kropotkin 
rolled  into  one,  the  poet  had  given  the 
measure  of  his  power.  Scholars  date 
the  period  of  his  decline  from  the 
Mort  de  Pompee^  produced  in  the  win- 
ter of  1643-44.  The  word  'decline ' 
is  used  relatively,  however.  Pompie  is 
-1.131^ 


CORNEILLE 

inferior  to  Horace^  no  doubt,  but  it  is 
a  tragedy  which  only  Corneille  could 
have  written. 

Two  comedies,  the  Menteur  and  the 
Suite  du  Menteur^  followed  Pompee, 
The  first  of  these  is  the  piece  to  which 
Moliere  believed  himself  so  greatly 
indebted.  Moliere  told  Boileau  that 
without  the  Menteur  as  a  model  he 
might  still  have  written  comedies  of 
intrigue,  but  he  could  hardly  have 
written  the  Misanthrope.  On  the 
occasion  of  the  Menteur^  Balzac  wrote 
Corneille :  '  You  will  be  Aristophanes 
when  it  pleases  you  to  be,  as  you  have 
already  been  Sophocles.' 

Between  1644  and  1647  Corneille 

produced     Rodogune^     ^heodore^    and 

Heraclius.     The  first  of  the  three  was 

received    with    '  universal    applause.' 

-1-132^^ 


CORNEILLE 


This  is  the  play  for  which  Corneille 
showed  a  strong  liking,  especially 
when  people  praised  in  his  presence 
the  merits  of  Cinna  or  the  Cid.  With 
characteristic  open-mindedness,  the 
poet  confessed  that  this  preference 
might  be  another  illustration  of  that 
blind  and  unreasoning  fondness  which 
parents  sometimes  display  for  one  child 
rather  than  another.  Thiodore  shocked 
the  audience  by  the  repulsive  character 
of  one  of  its  situations.  This  fact  is 
often  cited  as  a  naive  illustration  of 
Corneille's  purity  of  heart.  He  was 
one  of  those  rare  poets  who  could 
touch  pitch  and  not  be  defiled.  He 
was  amazed  at  the  obstinacy  of  a  pub- 
lic which  insisted  upon  seeking  and 
finding  grossness  where  grossness  was 
not  intended.    It  may  be  cited  among 


CORNEILLE 

the  paradoxes  of  criticism  that  the  deli- 
cate-minded Voltaire  was  offended  by 
the  plot  oi 'Theodore.  The  world's  debt 
to  Voltaire  is  very  great;  but  in  all 
dramatic  literature  there  is  no  scene 
comparable  for  mirthfulness  with  the 
spectacle  of  the  author  of  the  Pucelle 
reading  the  author  oi  Horace  a  lesson  in 
decency  I  In  HiracUus  Corneille  grew 
more  involved  and  complicated  than 
ever.  It  is  not  easy  to  explain  the  suc- 
cess of  this  '  melodrama '  with  the  pub- 
lic in  the  light  of  Corneille's  own  con- 
fession that  it  needed  to  be  heard  more 
than  once  to  be  comprehended,  and  that 
he  had  himself  been  told  by  persons 
well  qualified  to  judge,  that  witnessing 
a  representation  of  Hiraclius  fatigued 
the  mind  more  than  serious  study. 
After  this  frank  acknowledgment,  we 
■H.134+- 


CORNEILLE 

may  reject  as  apocryphal  that  absurd 
anecdote  which  represents  the  poet  as 
unable  to  follow  the  action  of  his  own 
play  when  it  was  revived  several  years 
later. 

It  is  amusing  to  find  how  ancient 
is  the  cry  that  the  theatre-going  public 
wants  novelties,  and  how  invariably 
that  passion  for  the  unusual  is  referred 
to  some  national  trait  or  peculiarity. 
*  You  know  the  humor  of  our  French 
people/  says  Corneille :  '  they  love 
novelty,  and  I  venture  non  tarn  meliora 
quam  nova^  in  the  hope  of  being  the 
better  able  to  please  them.'  The  refer- 
ence is  to  the  second  of  two  novelties 
which  Corneille  put  upon  the  stage 
in  1650,  namely,  Andrornede  and  'Don 
Sanche  d!  Aragon, 

Andrornede   was   a   '  comedy    with 


CORNEILLE 

music'  It  was  spectacular,  or  as  they 
used  to  say,  *comedie  a  machines/ 
The  fashion  was  introduced  from  Italy. 
Torelli,  a  Venetian,  who  had  the 
mechanical  devices  in  hand,  was  so 
skilful  that  he  was  popularly  called  the 
'  Grand  Sorcerer/  '  He  invented  the 
method  by  which  it  was  possible  to 
change  the  whole  scene  in  the  twin- 
kling of  an  eye/  The  music  for  this 
piece  was  composed  by  d'Assoucy. 
It  was  presented  after  long  delay  at 
the  Theatre  de  Petit-Bourbon.  The 
success  was  *  prodigious,'  and  Corneille 
was  more  than  rewarded  for  the  delay 
of  three  years  to  which  the  piece  had 
been  subjected.  We  are  allowed  to 
think  of  this  remarkable  man  as  not 
alone  the  father  of  French  tragedy, 
but  as  having  contributed  in  no  small 
^136+- 


CORNEILLE 

degree  to  form  the  public  taste  for 
opera,  and  for  a  type  of  opera  in  which 
the  poetry  was  not  subordinated  to  the 
music  and  the  stage  setting.  In  his 
*examen'  of  Andrornede  published 
ten  years  afterward,  and  also  in  the 
*  Argument'  prefixed  to  the  play, 
Corneille  gives  full  credit  to  the  in- 
ventor of  the  mechanical  devices. 
These,  he  says,  are  so  '  necessary '  that 
to  attempt  to  do  without  one  of  them 
would  be  to  topple  the  whole  edifice 
to  the  ground.  He  acknowledges 
that  it  is  a  piece  for  the  eye  rather 
than  the  ear,  and  he  congratulates  him- 
self that  he  has  so  skilful  a  coadjutor 
as  Torelli,  who  on  this  occasion  has 
surpassed  all  his  former  achievements. 
Don  Sanche  d'Aragon  is  a  comedie 
hero'ique.     The  play  was  not  entirely 


4^  ^^ts^  ^^ 

CORNEILLE 

pleasing  to  the  authorities,  for  it  seemed 
to  touch  too  closely  upon  current 
events.  There  was  no  design  in  this. 
The  case  was  not  one  where  the  dra- 
matic author  had  made  his  allusions  to 
fit  contemporary  history,  but  it  comes 
near  to  being  one  of  those  singular 
instances  where  the  event  seemed  to 
have  taken  its  cue  from  the  play. 
DonSanche  is  represented  as  of  humble 
birth,  the  son  of  a  fisherman.  He 
subdues  monarchs,  and  plays  havoc 
with  the  affairs  of  state.  In  the 
opinion  of  the  ruling  powers,  the  time 
was  ill  chosen  for  encouraging  such 
ambitions,  even  in  dramatic  pictures. 
The  war  of  the  Fronde  was  disturbing 
France.  In  England  a  Cromwell  had 
made  himself  military  ruler,  and  the 
head  of  a  king  had  fallen  on  the  scaf- 
^138^- 


CORNEILLE 

fold.  These  were  bad  precedents. 
What  an  uncomfortable  thing,  if  it 
should  turn  out  that  in  writing  Don 
Sanche  Corneille  had  been  uttering 
prophecy !  And  so  it  comes  that  the 
Comte  de  Neufchateau,  in  his  book 
called  the  Esprit  du  grand  Corneille^ 
says :  *  Cromwell  killed  Don  Sanche.' 

Nicomede  (1651),  a  comedie  hero- 
i'que  like  Don  Sanche^  was  the  last  of 
the  poet's  great  flights.  He  wrote 
nine  or  ten  more  pieces,  but  all  inferior 
to  this  splendid  play.  He  was  fully 
conscious  of  the  merit  of  the  work, 
and  might  have  admitted  as  wholly 
deserved  the  tribute  of  the  admirer 
who  declared  that  Nicomede  was  as 
beautiful  as  the  Cid, 

Pertharite  (1652)  failed  completely, 
and  in  the  opinion  of  its  author,  igno- 


CORNEILLE 

miniously.  The  play  had  but  two 
performances.  So  disappointed  was 
the  poet  that  he  could  not  bear  any 
allusion  to  the  unhappy  circumstance. 
He  easily  persuaded  himself  that  he 
was  too  old  —  he  lacked  four  years 
of  being  fifty  —  to  please  the  public 
longer.  In  a  preface  to  an  early 
printed  edition  of  the  play,  he  spoke 
of  his  failure  in  terms  which  do  not 
attempt  to  conceal  his  disappoint- 
ment. '  It  is  better,'  he  says,  '  that  I 
should  take  my  farewell  of  the  theatre 
at  my  own  instance  than  wait  to  be 
dismissed.  The  facts  are  evident;  after 
twenty  years  of  work,  I  begin  to  real- 
ize that  I  am  too  old  to  be  in  fashion. 
This  satisfaction  I  have,  that  both  in 
respect  of  art  and  of  morals  I  leave 
the  French  stage  in  a  better  condition 
-i-i40h^ 


CORNEILLE 

than  I  found  it.  The  great  geniuses 
of  my  time  have  contributed  much  to 
the  theatre,  but  I  flatter  myself  that  my 
efforts  have  not  been  to  its  injury.  .  .  . 
Grant  me  the  privilege  of  adding  this 
unhappy  poem  to  the  one  and  twenty 
which  have  preceded  it  with  so  much 
success.  This  will  be  the  last  impor- 
tunity of  similar  nature  which  I  shall 
make  you  ! ' 

The  touch  of  bitterness  is  unmis- 
takable. Corneille  pretty  nearly  kept 
his  word,  and  had  it  not  been  for 
the  expostulations  of  Fouquet,  might 
never  again  have  tempted  public 
favor.  As  it  was,  his  retirement  lasted 
seven  years.  Fouquet,  who  was  in 
the  height  of  his  glory  at  the  beginning 
of  the  second  half  of  the  century,  set 
himself  to  the  task  of  bringing  the 
-^  141-t- 


CORNEILLE 

author  of  the  Cid  back  to  the  stage. 
The  Surintendant  was  liberal  toward 
men  of  letters.  Corneille  said  of  him 
that  he  was  minister  of  belles-lettres  as 
well  as  minister  of  finance.  Fouquet 
proposed  three  subjects.  Corneille 
elected  to  write  a  play  on  CEdipus.  It 
was  presented  at  Hotel  de  Bourgogne 
in  January,  1659.  ^^  ^^^  successful, 
perhaps  for  the  reason  assigned  by  a 
modern  critic,  who  sees  in  CEdipe  not 
a  tragedy  but  a  melodrama.  The 
Court  was  attracted.  The  Gazette 
of  February  15  announced  that  their 
Majesties,  with  a  great  number  of  per- 
sons of  quality  ,went  to  Hotel  de  Bour- 
gogne 'to  witness  a  performance  of 
the  CEdipe  of  Sieur  de  Corneille,  the 
latest  work  of  this  celebrated  author.' 
It  is  exactly  at  this  point  that  the 
-I- 1424- 


CORNEILLE 

biographers  of  Corneille  celebrate  the 
golden  days  of  the  poet's  reputation. 
The  militant  period  of  his  life  was 
past.  His  fame  had  been  increased 
rather  than  diminished  by  his  seven 
years  of  retirement.  He  had  had 
time  to  grow  into  the  position  of  a 
classic.  Many  of  his  bitterest  ene- 
mies were  dead,  others  had  been 
whipped  into  line  by  a  public  which 
does  not  in  the  long  run  judge  amiss. 
Moreover,  Corneille,  being  fifty-three 
years  of  age,  was  in  some  sort  a  vet- 
eran. Younger  men  rallied  about 
him  and  did  honor  to  his  great  gifts 
as  they  had  not  before.  He  was  stim- 
ulated to  work  by  these  conditions. 

In  1661  he  produced  the  ConquUe 
de  la  T^oison  d'or^  which,  like  Andro- 
mede^  was  a  tragedy  '  a  machines,'  and 


CORNEILLE 

with  music.  It  was  so  successful  that 
it  was  played  the  next  winter.  Then 
followed  Sertorius^  presented  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1662,  *by  the  comedians  of  the 
Marais.'  This  was  the  piece  which 
so  impressed  Turenne,  and  led  him  to 
ask  in  astonishment :  '  Where  did  Cor- 
neille  learn  the  art  of  war  ?  '  In  1663 
Sophonisbe  was  produced,  to  the  great 
annoyance  of  two  petulant  critics, 
de  Vise  and  the  Abbe  d'Aubignac. 
Another  irritating  pamphlet  war  was 
declared.  I>Aubignac  stirred  up  a 
hornet's  nest  of  small  poets  to  attack 
Corneille.  De  Vise,  ashamed  of  his 
companionship,  withdrew,  and  began 
to  defend  the  great  dramatist. 

Sophonisbe  was  followed  by  Othon 
in  1664,  by  Agisilas  in  1666,  and  by 
Attila  in  1667.     The  first  of  the  three 


CORNEILLE 

was  received  with  little  cordiality,  and 
Agesilas  was  considered  unworthy  the 
author  of  CEdipe  and  Sertorius^  as 
they  in  turn  had  been  thought  un- 
worthy the  author  of  the  Cid  and 
Horace,  Boileau's  epigram  on  Agesi- 
las is  often  quoted :  — 

J'ai  vu  P  Agesilas  : 
Helas! 

Attila  was  not  ill-treated  at  the  hands 
of  the  public,  and  had  twenty  perform- 
ances at  the  Palais-Royal  by  Moliere's 
comedians.  That  Attila  should  have 
been  produced  by  Moliere  rather 
than  by  the  comedians  of  Hotel  de 
Bourgogne  was  due  to  Corneille's 
natural  irritation  at  the  preference 
shown  for  the  works  of  his  young 
rival,  Racine. 

"Tite  et  Berenice  was  produced  by 
^145^- 


CORNEILLE 

Moliere's  troupe  in  1670.  This 
drama  and  the  brilliant  Bourgeois  gen- 
tilhomme  were  played  alternately,  each 
piece  having  about  twenty  perform- 
ances. Corneille  did  not  escape  the 
charge  of  obscurity;  what  thoughtful 
poet  does  ?  In  this  play  of  TiV^?  et 
Berenice  were  lines  which  baffled  his 
most  devoted  admirers.  Boileau  used 
to  say  '  that  there  were  two  sorts  of 
galimatias^  simple  and  double.  Sim- 
ple galimatias  was  where  the  author 
understood  what  he  wanted  to  say, 
but  other  people  understood  nothing. 
Double  galimatias  was  where  neither 
the  author  nor  the  readers  understood 
anything.'  He  illustrated  the  saying 
'  with  certain  lines  from  "Tite  et  B'eri- 
nice' 

Baron,  the  femous  actor  who  cre- 


CORNEILLE 

ated  the  role  of  Domitian,  was  sadly- 
troubled  by  these  lines.  The  more 
he  studied  them,  the  less  he  compre- 
hended them.  He  appealed  to  Moli- 
ere,  with  whom  he  was  living  at  that 
time,  but  Moliere  was  not  able  to  un- 
derstand them  either.  He  was  able, 
however,  to  give  sound  advice.  Said 
Moliere :  '  Wait ;  Monsieur  Corneille 
will  be  here  to  supper,  and  you  shall 
ask  him  to  explain  them.'  When 
Corneille  arrived,  young  Baron  em- 
braced him  as  was  his  custom,  for  he 
loved  him ;  and  then  he  begged  the 
old  poet  to  explain  the  four  verses. 
Corneille,  after  having  examined  the 
lines  for  some  time,  said :  '  I  do  not 
understand  them  very  well  myself 
now,  but  do  you  always  speak  them ; 


CORNEILLE 

they  who  do  not  understand  them 
will  admire  them.' 

The  anecdote  is  good  enough  to 
be  apocryphal.  It  is  to  be  found  in 
Rkr'eations  littiraires^  by  Cizeron-Ri- 
val,  and  is  copied  into  most  of  the 
biographies  of  Corneille. 

Towards  the  close  of  1670,  Cor- 
neille wrote  in  collaboration  with  Mo- 
liere  and  Quinault  a  spectacular  piece 
for  Carnival.  It  was  Moliere's  idea 
to  take  the  old  story  of  Psyche  for  the 
subject.  The  music  was  composed  by 
LuUy,  and  the  opera  was  presented  at 
the  Theatre  des  Tuileries  in  January, 
1671.  They  who  are  best  qualified 
to  judge  say  that  there  are  few  verses 
more  graceful,  more  highly  endowed 
with  the  indescribable  charm  of  true 
lyric  poetry,  than  these  verses  which 


CORNEILLE 

Corneille  contributed  to  the  '  tragedie- 
ballet '  of  Psyche. 

His  last  works  were  Pulcherie  and 
Surena,  In  the  midst  of  their  defects 
were  passages  which  brought  to  mind 
the  '  firm  and  imposing  grandeur '  of 
the  greater  plays.  Corneille's  mis- 
takes were  always  the  '  mistakes  of  a 
giant.'  Even  in  this  last  fruit  from 
an  old  tree  were  high  qualities  which 
belonged  only  to  him. 


hi49H 


VI 


^UT  little  is  known  of  Cor- 
neille's  private  life.  He  was  neither 
eccentric  in  manner  nor  brilliant  in 
conversation,  and  therefore  people  had 
little  to  say  about  him.  For  a  man 
whose  entire  career  had  to  do  with  the 
stage,  he  left  but  a  slender  harvest  of 
anecdote.  He  lived  until  October, 
1684.  ^^^  brother  Thomas  lived 
until  1709,  and  his  nephew  Fonte- 
nelle  did  not  die  until  1757.  But  for 
all  that  he  seems  to  come  within  our 


CORNEILLE 

reach,  and  to  be  tangible  in  a  sense  in 
which  Shakespeare  is  not,  Corneille  is 
shadowy  and  indefinite. 

Yet  there  was  nothing  mysterious 
about  him.  He  was  a  plain  man, 
with  simple  tastes  and  homely  inter- 
ests. Historians  tell  us  with  an  air  of 
wonder  that  he  was  a  dutiful  son,  a 
good  husband,  a  good  father,  and  a  de- 
voted member  of  the  church.  He  was 
in  fact  warden  of  his  parish  for  years, 
and  was  a  singularly  devout  man.  In 
every  particular  he  was  the  opposite 
of  the  Bohemian  playwright  who  is  a 
stock  figure  in  literary  annals.  What 
a  contrast  he  offers  to  his  old  enemy 
Bois-Robert,  whose  history  in  the  most 
recent  and  authoritative  of  works  be- 
gins with  this  sentence :  '  Bois-Robert 
entirely  lacked  the  moral  sense.' 


CORNEILLE 

No,  Corneille  was  not  picturesque. 
He  was  strong,  simple-hearted,  he  was 
a  genius,  but  he  was  not  picturesque. 
For  this  reason  his  contemporaries 
never  got  over  their  surprise  as  they 
compared  the  man  and  the  work. 
They  marvelled,  tried  to  explain  it  to 
themselves,  and  then  settled  back  in 
the  belief  that  there  was  a  psycholo- 
gical trick  about  it.  Moliere's  story 
accounting  for  the  operation  of  Cor- 
neille's  mind  may  not  be  authentic, 
but  it  illustrates  the  case  quite  as  well. 
Moliere  said  that  Corneille  had  a  lit- 
tle goblin  which  hovered  about  him ; 
and  when  the  goblin  saw  his  master 
cleaning  his  nails  and  getting  ready 
to  write,  he  would  go  up  to  him  and 
whisper  in  his  ear  the  things  to  say. 
Then  Corneille  would  put  them  down. 


CORNEILLE 

Afterward  the  goblin  would  go  away 
a  little  distance  and  say  to  himself, 
*  Now  let  us  see  how  he  will  do 
alone.'  And  then  Corneille  would 
write  all  those  passages  in  his  works 
which  are  so  difficult  to  read.  He 
would  write  until  the  goblin  took 
pity  on  him  and  dictated  once  more. 
'  It  was  not  the  Corneille  we  know 
who  wrote  all  the  beautiful  passages 
in  his  plays,'  said  Moliere,  '  it  was  the 
goblin.' 

In  his  old  age  he  became  poor. 
Poets  used  to  live  in  those  days  either 
by  dedications;  or  'little  verses,'  by 
which  we  may  understand  poems  of 
occasion;  or  by  'domesticity,'  which 
means  that  they  took  up  residence  at 
the  house  of  some  powerful  lord,  ate 
his  bread,  drank  his  wine,  and  sang 
-+IS4+- 


I 


CORNEILLE 

his  praises.  It  is  not  possible  to 
imagine  Corneille  in  such  a  situation ; 
and  since  he  had  no  great  skill  in 
'little  verses,'  and  could  not  write  a 
dedication  '  a  la  Montauron '  every 
week,  his  case  was  a  hard  one.  Once, 
when  some  admirer  congratulated 
him  on  the  success  of  his  work,  he 
answered :  '  I  am  satiated  with  glory 
and  famished  for  money.'  There  is 
a  letter  from  a  bourgeois  of  Rouen 
which  describes  Corneille  sitting  on  a 
bench  in  a  cobbler's  shop  while  he 
has  a  shoe  mended,  and  afterwards  giv- 
ing the  shoemaker  the  three  pieces  of 
money  remaining  in  his  pocket.  *I 
have  wept,'  says  the  writer  of  the  let- 
ter, '  to  see  so  great  a  genius  reduced 
to  this  excess  of  misery.' 

Lemaitre     observes     that,    strictly 


CORNEILLE 

speaking,  the  only  point  proven  by 
this  incident  is  that  Corneille  was 
a  man  of  entirely  simple  manners. 
There  is  no  rigid  demonstration  of 
poverty  in  the  mere  fact  of  the  poet's 
going  to  the  shop  and  waiting  until 
the  shoe  was  mended.  The  letter, 
however,  was  written  by  one  who  was 
sufficiently  well  acquainted  with  Cor- 
neille's  affairs  to  see  in  this  otherwise 
natural  though  unceremonious  pro- 
ceeding a  fresh  illustration  of  the  nar- 
rowness of  the  poet's  circumstances. 

Corneille  was  not  only  simple  of 
manner,  but  he  was  something  more. 
They  bring  against  him  the  unkind- 
est  charge  that  a  Parisian  knows  how 
to  make  :  '  Corneille  remained  always 
a  provincial.'  He  never  acquired  ur- 
banity of  manner.  He  was  brusque 
-+1564- 


CORNEILLE 

and  even  rude  at  times.  According 
to  Lemaitre,  this  rudeness  was  not  con- 
fined to  his  manner,  it  used  to  come 
out  in  his  verse  occasionally.  The 
poet  is  a  refreshing  figure  on  this  ac- 
count. The  reader  becomes  wearied 
of  the  supple  courtiers  and  the  smil- 
ing, insinuating  abbes  whom  he  meets 
so  often  in  a  study  of  this  period.  The 
Due  de  Montausier  and  Pierre  Cor- 
neille  are  as  invigorating  as  a  breath 
of  cool  air  on  a  hot  day. 

Corneille  married  shortly  after  the 
triumph  of  Cinna.  His  wife  was 
Marie  de  Lamperiere,  a  daughter  of 
Matthieu  de  Lamperiere,  '  lieutenant 
particulier  civil  et  criminel  du  Bailly 
de  Gisors,  au  siege  d'Andely.'  There 
is  a  tradition  that  Richelieu  used  his 
influence  to  help  Corneille  win  the 
^157^ 


CORNEILLE 

lady  of  his  choice.  The  father  was 
opposed  to  the  match,  but  yielded 
readily  at  the  Cardinal's  suggestion. 
The  story  was  first  told  by  Fonte- 
nelle.  Whoever  wishes  to  read  the 
refutation  of  this  and  other  pictur- 
esque traditions  of  the  poet's  career 
will  do  well  to  consult  Bouquet's  his- 
torical and  critical  study,  entitled 
Points  obscurs  et  nouveaux  de  la  vie  de 
Pierre  Corneille,  The  family  with 
which  the  poet  allied  himself  held  a 
dignified  position  in  the  world  and 
was  fairly  well  to  do.  Six  children 
were  bom  of  this  marriage,  of  whom 
the  eldest,  Marie,  is  notable  because 
by  her  second  marriage  she  became 
the  ancestress  of  Charlotte  Corday. 

Marie  de  Lamperiere  had  a  younger 
sister.     Marguerite,      who      married 


CORNEILLE 

Thomas  Corneille.  Nothing  reflects 
greater  credit  on  the  '  grand  '  Corneille 
than  his  attitude  towards  his  brother 
Thomas.  He  loved  him  tenderly, 
gave  him  a  father's  care  and  guidance 
after  their  father's  death,  helped  him 
in  his  dramatic  beginnings,  and  was 
at  all  times  and  in  all  circumstances 
his  best  and  most  unselfish  friend. 
Is  this  why  some  of  the  biographers 
exclaim  '  vie  bourgeoise,'  and  declare 
that  Corneille  was  a  poet  only  in  his 
works?  What  would  they  have? 
Apparently,  in  the  minds  of  not  a  few 
critics,  marital  fidelity  and  brotherly 
devotion  are  not  only  vulgar,  but  quite 
incompatible  with  poetry. 

Corneille's  introduction  to  the  bril- 
liant society  of  Hotel  de  Rambouillet 
took  place  about  the  time  of  his  mar- 
-+159^ 


CORNEILLE 

riage.  He  was  welcomed  there  as  the 
most  gifted  and  successful  dramatic 
poet  of  the  day.  He  read  his  plays 
before  the  Marquise  and  her  guests, 
and  contributed  three  poems  to  the 
Guirlande  de  Julie.  To  the  Marquise 
de  Rambouillet,  who  cherished  sincer- 
ity and  all  the  other  qualities  which 
we  call  '  sterling,'  the  poet's  presence 
must  have  been  grateful.  To  ordinary 
men  and  women  of  fashion  he  was 
an  enigma.  He  had  few  social  gifts, 
and  perhaps  despised  '  the  graces.' 
His  reading  of  his  own  works  was 
like  most  authors'  readings,  more 
curious  than  agreeable.  According 
to  Vigneul-Marville,  the  poet  never 
spoke  his  own  language  very  cor- 
rectly, though  this  may  have  been  from 
pure  neghgence.     They  talked  of  his 

^I6o^- 


CORNEILLE 

'  Norman  patois.'  His  nephew,  Fonte- 
nelle,  says  that  the  poet  read  his  verses 
with  force  but  without  grace.  Accord- 
ing to  the  report  of  persons  less  favor- 
ably prejudiced,  Corneille  was  barely 
intelligible  when  he  read  aloud. 

Though  not  a  handsome  man,  Cor- 
neille had  *a  very  agreeable  counte- 
nance.' His  eyes  were  full  of  fire,  his 
nose  large,  his  mouth  finely  shaped. 
He  was  of  medium  height,  neither  fat 
nor  thin,  though  inclining  towards  a 
full  habit,  and  quite  negligent  of  dress. 
He  might  have  been  taken  for  a 
'merchant  of  Rouen'  rather  than  a 
portrayer  of  the  life  and  thought  of 
heroes. 

He  became  a  candidate  for  the 
Academy  first  in  1644,  and  again  in 
1646.      The   company   rejected  him 


CORNEILLE 

the  first  time  in  favor  of  de  Salomon, 
and  the  second  time  in  favor  of  Du 
Ryer.  Too  often  these  facts  are  told 
in  a  way  to  reflect  upon  the  Academy. 
It  is  but  fair  to  say  that  the  policy  of 
this  body  was  to  choose,  of  two  eligi- 
ble candidates,  the  one  who  made  his 
home  in  Paris.  There  were  exceptions 
to  this  rule,  Balzac  being  the  most 
conspicuous. 

After  Maynard's  death,  Corneille 
again  offered  himself  He  told  the 
members  that  he  had  now  arranged 
his  affairs  at  Rouen  so  as  to  be  able  to 
pass  a  part  of  each  year  at  the  capital. 
At  the  time  of  his  reception  into  the 
company  (January  22,  1647),  he  pro- 
nounced a  discourse  which  his  ardent 
admirer,  Taschereau,  has  declared  to 
be  one  of  the  worst  of  compositions, 


CORNEILLE 

hardly   redeeming    its   faults   by   its 
brevity. 

In  criticising  the  historians  for  omit- 
ting to  speak  of  that  rule  against  non- 
resident membership  of  the  Academy 
as  applied  to  the  case  of  Corneille,  we 
are  not  absolving  that  body  from  the 
charge  of  narrowness.  It  was  not  al- 
together liberal  in  its  attitude  toward 
the  great  dramatic  poet.  But  its  nar- 
rowness can  be  explained,  if  not  de- 
fended. The  Academy  was  after  all 
a  club.  It  did  not  call  itself  one ;  but 
the  traditions  of  the  Golden  Age  re- 
mained, and  good  fellowship  was  a 
phrase  which  still  had  a  meaning.  It 
was  impossible  that  men  should  not 
be  affected  by  these  considerations  in 
the  choice  of  new  members.  What- 
ever social  virtues  Corneille  had  were 
^163^ 


CORNEILLE 

not  pronounced.  Though  an  eminent 
poet,  he  was  not  a  man  whose  society 
was  sought  by  other  men  because  of 
his  '  clubable  '  qualities. 

He  was  probably  a  negligent  Aca- 
demician. One  cannot  easily  imagine 
him  as  regular  in  attendance  and  eager 
over  the  minutise  of  Academic  busi- 
ness. He  assisted  at  the  public  func- 
tions, but  took  no  prominent  part  in 
the  routine  work.  Marty-Laveaux 
says  that  his  colleagues  were  proud  to 
have  him  among  them,  and  were  not 
disposed  to  be  exacting  in  their  de- 
mands. No  finer  tribute  to  Corneille's 
modesty  of  demeanor  could  be  paid 
than  was  paid  by  Racine,  who  said 
that  one  might  look  in  vain  for  any 
evidence  that  Corneille  wished  to  take 
advantage  of  his  great  renown.  '  He 
-i-i644- 


CORNEILLE 

came  as  a  docile  pupil,  seeking  to  be 
instructed  in  our  meetings,  and  leav- 
ing his  laurels  at  the  door  of  the 
Academy.' 

Corneille  was  a  very  proud  man, 
but  his  pride  often  took  an  unusual 
form.  In  his  age  men  were  boastful 
of  their  ancestry,  and  apparently  there 
were  no  ancestors  who  were  not  noble. 
Occasionally  we  find  an  exception 
like  Voiture,  who  was  handicapped  by 
the  fact  that  everybody  knew  about 
his  father,  the  wholesale  wine-mer- 
chant of  Amiens ;  yet  Voiture  had  a 
sturdiness  of  nature  quite  incompati- 
ble with  that  thin  vanity  which  is  flat- 
tered by  the  consciousness  of  being 
technically  '  noble.'  The  majority  of 
men  were  only  content  with  the  par- 
ticle de.  They  yearned  for  it,  and 
-i.i65h- 


1^1  mtr^i  /By 

CORNEILLE 

would  do  anything  to  obtain  it.  They 
were  willing  to  toil,  flatter,  cringe,  lie. 
So  common  was  the  particle,  and  so 
doubtful  of  origin  in  many  cases,  that 
it  ought  to  have  been  debased.  But 
it  was  not.  No  extravagance  of  use 
could  dim  its  splendor. 

Corneille  had  no  foolish  affectation 
of  this  sort.  To  the  end  of  his  days 
he  remained  Pierre  Corneille.  So  far 
as  we  know,  he  never  used,  or  encour- 
aged others  to  use,  any  title  in  con- 
nection with  his  name.  In  a  legal 
document  he  is  spoken  of  as  Sieur  de 
Damville.  This  fact  disturbed  Tasche- 
reau,  who  tried  to  explain  it  on  the 
ground  of  failing  mental  powers. 
The  document  in  question  related  to 
the  sale  of  Corneille's  house  in  Rouen, 
and  was  drawn  up  the  year  before  the 
■^  i66h— 


CORNEILLE 

poet's  death.  In  the  second  edition 
of  his  Histoire  de  la  vie  et  des  ouvrages 
de  P.  Corneilky  Taschereau  announced 
with  triumphant  satisfaction  that  he 
was  wrong  in  supposing  that  the  poet 
had  assumed  the  title  himself  It  was 
applied  to  him  by  his  relative,  Le 
Bouyer  de  Fontenelle,  who  had  charge 
of  the  sale. 

Still  less  was  Corneille  guilty  of 
that  vulgar  and  disgusting  form  of 
vanity  which  boasts  the  humbleness 
of  its  origin  and  exalts  its  present  con- 
dition at  the  expense  of  poor  but 
worthy  parents.  He  was  simple,  nat- 
ural, unaffected.  Had  he  continued 
financially  prosperous,  he  might  have 
been  more  genial.  Men  are  wonder- 
fully placid  and  easy-going  under  the 
discipline  of  wealth. 

^  i67-»- 


CORNEILLE 

His  mental  vigor  declined  percep- 
tibly as  he  advanced  in  years.  He 
showed  the  effect  of  a  long  life  of  in- 
tense application.  He  became  more 
straitened  in  circumstances.  Lanson 
says,  recounting  the  sources  of  his  in- 
come, that  Corneille  was  at  no  time 
in  misery.  One  could  the  more  read- 
ily believe  this,  were  it  not  that  the 
world  always  contains  people  able  at 
the  same  instant  to  boast  their  houses 
and  lands  and  to  bewail  their  lack  of 
money.  Lemaitre  likens  Corneille, 
in  all  that  concems  money,  to  the  el- 
der Dumas  and  to  Honore  de  Balzac. 
When  such  men  have  ready  money, 
they  are  incapable  of  realizing  the 
state  of  mind  consequent  upon  being 
moneyless.     Without  necessarily  be- 


CORNEILLE 

ing  spendthrifts,  they  spend  as  if  the 
source  were  inexhaustible. 

There  was  a  tradition  that  during 
the  poet's  last  illness,  Boileau,  know- 
ing Corneille  to  be  in  great  distress  and 
perhaps  at  the  point  of  death,  went 
to  the  king  and  generously  offered  to 
sacrifice  his  own  pension,  if  by  so 
doing  Corneille  might  be  reestablished 
in  his.  '  The  king  immediately  sent 
two  hundred  louis.' 

This  tradition  enjoyed  an  uninter- 
rupted existence  up  to  the  year  1888. 
It  was  then  reinterpreted,  by  Bou- 
quet, in  the  interest  of  that  strict 
historical  verity  which  we  all  admire, 
and  are  reluctant  to  receive  because 
less  piquant  than  tradition.  The  king 
did  indeed  send  Corneille  '  money  to 
die  with,'  but  not  at  the  instance  of 
-^  169-1- 


CORNEILLE 

Boileau.  Corneille  died  some  time 
during  the  night  of  September  30 
and  October  1,  1684. 

He  was  buried  in  the  church  of 
Saint-Roch,  'without  mausoleum  or 
epitaph'  to  indicate  to  the  stranger 
the  place  of  his  interment.  One  hun- 
dred and  thirty-seven  years  elapsed 
before  any  memorial  was  raised  to  his 
honor.  In  1821  the  Due  d'Orleans, 
afterward  Louis-Philippe,  placed  a 
commemorative  tablet  of  marble  on 
one  of  the  pillars  in  the  church.  On 
this  tablet  was  sculptured  a  medallion 
of  the  poet  togetlier  with  an  inscrip- 
tion which  says:  'Pierre  Corneille, 
ne  a  Rouen  le  6  Juin  1606,  mort  a 
Paris,  rue  d'Argenteuil,  le  1^  Octobre 
1684,  ^^^  inhume  dans  cette  eglise.' 

His  brother  Thomas,  younger  than 


CORNEILLE 

he  by  nineteen  years,  succeeded  to 
his  arm-chair  in  the  Academy.  His 
widow  survived  him  ten  years.  The 
fortunes  of  his  children  and  grand- 
children were  various,  and  neither 
more  nor  less  happy  than  the  average 
of  human  fortunes.  In  1728  the  fam- 
ily of  Corneille  was  supposed  to  be 
extinct  in  the  line  of  direct  descent 
from  the  poet.  Marie  Corneille,  who 
derived  from  a  collateral  branch,  re- 
ceived substantial  assistance  from  Vol- 
taire, and  from  all  whom  he  could 
interest  in  her  welfare,  as  the  only  liv- 
ing representative  of  the  great  name. 
Voltaire  had  the  discomfort  of  being 
roundly  abused  for  not  exerting  him- 
self afresh  in  behalf  of  another  Cor- 
neille, who  announced  himself  at  Fer- 
ney  one  day  as  a  direct  descendant  of 
-+171  -I- 


CORNEILLE 

the  author  of  the  Cid,  It  was  Claude- 
Etienne,  son  of  Pierre-Alexis  Cor- 
neille,  who  in  childhood  had  been 
abandoned  by  his  father  and  whom 
the  world  had  lost  track  of  He  was 
now  thirty-five  years  of  age,  had  been 
a  soldier  and  an  adventurer,  and  was 
for  the  moment  a  beggar.  Voltaire 
took  a  very  philosophical  view  of 
his  case.  He  apparently  decided  that 
as  Claude-Etienne  was  a  man  in  the 
prime  of  life,  and  by  no  means  igno- 
rant of  the  ways  of  the  world,  he  was 
quite  able  to  shift  for  himself 

Marie,  eldest  child  of  the  great 
Corneille,  was  twice  married.  Her 
second  husband  was  Jacques-Adrien 
de  Farcy.  Of  their  two  children, 
Francois  de  Farcy  married  Adrien  de 
Corday.     Of  this  marriage  was  born 


CORNEILLE 

Jacques-Adrien  de  Corday,  who  es- 
poused Mademoiselle  de  Belleau  de 
La  Motte,  and  begat  sons  and  daugh- 
ters to  the  number  of  eight.  The 
most  notable  of  the  sons  was  Jacques- 
Fran9ois,  a  lieutenant  in  the  regiment 
of  La  Fere,  whose  daughter,  Marie- 
Anne  Charlotte  de  Corday,  killed  Ma- 
rat, and  a  few  days  later  died  by  the 
guillotine.  This  girl  of  twenty-five 
played  a  role  so  impassioned  and  he- 
roic that  one  may  look  in  vain  for  its 
counterpart  in  the  tragedies  of  her 
great  ancestor. 


173- 


VII 


n 


V^ORNEILLE'S  services  to  dra- 
matic literature  were  so  great  and  so 
varied  that  it  is  not  easy  to  compre- 
hend them.  One  may  glibly  repeat 
Faguet's  statement  that  '  Corneille 
carried  to  a  degree  of  perfection  hith- 
erto unknown  all  the  dramatic  forms, 
tragedy,  comedy,  tragi-comedy,  melo- 
drama, and  spectacular  piece,'  but  the 
full  significance  of  this  statement  is 
only  to  be  grasped  by  much  reading 
and  not  a  little  reflection. 
-+175-^ 


CORNEILLE 

Consider,  for  example,  how  great  a 
service  that  poet  renders  the  literature 
of  his  native  land  who  writes  plays 
which  are  not  only  perfectly  fitted  to 
the  needs  of  dramatic  representation, 
but  which  may  also  be  read  with 
the  highest  degree  of  pleasure.  Cor- 
neille's  best  plays  are  absolutely 
dramatic  and  unqualifiedly  literary. 
They  have  that  rare  distinction  by 
virtue  of  which  a  multitude  of  beau- 
ties not  to  be  perceived  in  the  reading 
are  brought  into  prominence  when 
the  play  is  played ;  and  by  virtue  of 
which,  on  the  other  hand,  beauties  of 
thought  and  diction  too  subtle  for  the 
atmosphere  of  the  play-house  are  dis- 
closed in  the  quiet  of  the  study.  The 
rank  and  file  of  dramatic  authors  are 
blind  to  the  significance  of  this  lesson 
-H- 176-1- 


CORNEILLE 

taught  by  the  masters  of  their  craft. 
Knowing,  as  they  must,  that  there  is 
small  chance  of  life  for  a  play  which 
is  not  strongly  tinctured  with  the  lit- 
erary quality,  they  still  court  oblivion 
for  the  sake  of  an  immediate  and  a 
brief  popularity.  Some  of  these  su- 
perficial pieces  have  a  longer  career 
than  others.  The  genius  of  a  bril- 
liant actor  gives  them  a  semblance  of 
life ;  but  it  is  only  a  semblance,  and 
when  the  actor  dies,  the  play  dies  too. 
It  can  hardly  be  accounted  among 
the  least  of  Corneille's  services  to  dra- 
matic literature  that  he  purified  the 
stage.  Where  licentiousness  had 
reigned  for  years,  cleanliness  came  to 
take  its  place.  In  bringing  about  this 
reform,  the  poet  had  no  motive  which 
was   not  praiseworthy.      There   is   a 


CORNEILLE 

kind  of  virtue  which  is  commercial; 
it  would  be  vicious,  were  it  not  that 
morality  pays  a  higher  rate  of  inter- 
est. Corneille  was  haughtily  above 
the  influence  of  these  low  and  care- 
less motives.  His  was  one  of  those 
large  natures  which  in  its  splendid 
health  of  mind  and  body  despises 
filth  of  any  kind. 

In  the  third  place  he  demonstrated 
that  the  creative  artist  may  be  splen- 
didly self-conscious.  He  was  a  critic 
of  adroit  and  penetrating  powers,  no 
less  in  command  of  the  '  theoric '  than 
of  the  '  art  and  practic  part '  of  dra- 
matic writing.  He  rendered  a  service 
to  the  little  understood  art  of  dra- 
matic criticism  by  his  three  Discourse 
and  by  those  prefaces  called  Examens 
which  are  to  be  found  in  most  editions 
^  178-1- 


CORNEILLE 

of  his  plays  dating  from  the  year  1660. 
The  edition  of  1660  was  in  three  vol- 
umes. Each  volume  contained  two 
essays,  one  on  the  general  theory  of 
dramatic  composition,  and  one  on  the 
several  plays  contained  in  that  partic- 
ular volume.  The  essays  on  the  gen- 
eral theory  of  the  drama  bear  the  fol- 
lowing titles :  Discours  de  Vutilite  et 
des  parties  du  Poeme  dramatique,  Dis^ 
cours  de  la  'J'ragidie^  and  Discours  des 
trois  Unites  d^ action  de  jour  et  de  lieu. 
In  the  Examens  Corneille  justifies,  ex- 
plains, or  condemns  his  manner  of 
handling  the  materials  of  the  individ- 
ual plays.  Critics  have  been  known 
to  lament  the  pains  which  the  great 
poet  took  in  accounting  to  himself 
and  his  public  in  the  small  matters 
of  dramatic  casuistry.  Would  that 
-1-179^ 


CORNEILLE 

Shakespeare  had  cared  enough  for 
his  own  work  to  do  the  same !  But 
there  is  a  school  of  criticism  which 
prefers  that  a  poet  should  never  ex- 
plain, and  which  despises  the  bard 
who  is  intelligible. 

Corneille,  the  master  of  tragedy, 
also  takes  high  rank  among  the  lyric 
poets  of  France.  He  made  a  poetic 
version  of  the  Imitation  of  Jesus 
Christ.  He  translated  from  the  Latin 
the  Office  de  la  Vierge^  the  Hymnes  du 
briviaire  romain^  the  Sept  Psaumes  peni- 
tentiaux^  and  many  other  pieces  be- 
sides. We  need  not  lay  too  much 
stress  on  Lemaitre's  malicious  sugges- 
tion that  the  seasons  of  exalted  piety 
during  which  these  devotional  poems 
were  composed  always  followed  hard 
upon  personal   disaster.     It   is   plea- 

■H-l80H- 


CORNEILLE 

santer  to  read  this  critic's  tribute  to 
the  fecundity  of  Corneille's  poetic 
vein,  and  to  be  reminded  that  this 
remarkable  man  '  left  from  twenty 
to  twenty-five  thousand  verses,  trans- 
lated either  from  liturgical  Latin  or 
the  Latin  of  the  Imitation ; '  in  other 
words,  that  Corneille  wrote  '  twice  as 
many  lyric  verses  as  Lamartine  and 
three  or  four  times  as  many  as  Alfred 
de  Vigny.'  Verily,  there  were  giants 
in  the  Seventeenth  Century ! 

He  is  a  unique  and  altogether  at- 
tractive figure.  I  cannot  understand 
that  attitude  which  denies  to  Cor- 
neille's history  the  quality  of  interest- 
ingness.  One  critic  says  that  he  had 
no  '  life,'  another  that  he  had  a  career 
which  was  all  of  a  piece,  dull,  with- 
out  event.     The  world   has  curious 


CORNEILLE 

ideas  of  what  constitutes  'life.'  .  If 
a  man  haunts  the  wine-shops,  is  a 
roysterer  and  something  of  a  rake,  if 
he  writes  his  poetry  between  fits  of 
intoxication  and  dies  in  debt,  his 
biographer  will  talk  gravely  about 
the  profundity  of  his  experience.  But 
if  he  is  respectable,  goes  to  church, 
has  a  family  and  supports  his  family, 
dresses  for  dinner,  and  has  some  con- 
sideration for  society  and  the  state, 
the  advocates  of  a  mild  bohemianism 
will  talk  about  the  narrowness  and 
stupidity  of  his  career,  and  will  tell 
you  how  little  such  a  poet  knows  of 
the  great  movements  and  forces  of 
our  time.  There  is  a  deal  of  rubbish 
in  print  exalting  the  irregular  literary 
lives  at  the  expense  of  the  regular. 
We  shall  expect  one  of  these  days  to 


CORNEILLE 

hear  a  lament  that  Shakespeare  did 
not  lead  a  broader  existence.  Why, 
this  man  Shakespeare  was  actually 
respectable.  He  made  money  and 
kept  it.  He  owned  city  property 
and  an  estate  in  the  country.  He 
attended  to  his  bills,  and  saw  to  it 
that  money  due  him  was  paid ;  if  it 
was  not  paid,  he  sued  for  it.  To 
Shakespeare  there  was  no  disgrace  in 
being  a  gentleman.  He  was  broad- 
minded,  sweet-tempered,  affable,  dis- 
tinguished for  his  common  sense, 
*  while  all  do  speak  of  his  upright- 
eousness  of  dealing.'  He  makes 
quite  as  good  a  showing  as  if  he  had 
been  stabbed  in  a  tavern  brawl  like 
his  friend  Marlowe,  and  left  but  a 
splendid  promise  and  an  unhappy 
memory. 


/ 

/ 


CORNEILLE 

Corneille's  career  was  not  dull. 
His  cup  of  life  was  filled  to  the  brim 
with  event.  He  knew  the  common- 
place and  the  exceptional  phases  of 
existence.  If  in  the  outward  aspects 
of  his  history  there  was  much  that 
might  be  called  work-a-day,  it  was 
the  better  for  him.  In  those  stretches 
of  time  when  there  was  little  outward 
disturbance,  the  poetic  life  was  strong, 
full,  and  rich.  How  is  it  possible 
to  apply  the  word  '  commonplace '  to 
the  man  in  whose  brain  were  forming 
the  heroic  figures  of  the  Cid  or  of 
Horace  ? 

He  knew  the  city  and  the  pro- 
vince, the  drawing-room  and  the  jus- 
tice's court,  the  splendors  of  Hotel  de 
Rambouillet  and  the  squabbles  and 
petty  jealousies  of  that  mimic  world 
-f-i84-»- 


CORNEILLE 

the  theatre.  He  knew  for  a  moment 
Richelieu,  and  perhaps  understood 
him  rather  better  than  Bois-Robert, 
whose  only  will  was  to  do  the  Cardi- 
nal's will.  He  knew  the  extremes  of 
popularity  and  neglect.  He  had  stood 
on  the  highest  pinnacle  of  public  fa- 
vor, had  seen  the  court  and  the  city 
frenzied  with  admiration  over  his 
achievements,  and  on  the  other  hand 
he  had  tasted  the  bitterness  of  defeat 
and  neglect.  He  had  lived  through 
that  trying  period  in  the  life  of  a  man 
of  genius  when  he  understands  that 
the  battle  is  not  to  the  experienced 
and  the  wise,  but  to  the  young  and 
the  buoyant.  He  cannot  be  said  to 
have  accepted  his  misfortunes  philo- 
sophically ;  I  am  not  trying  to  show 
that   Corneille   was   a   '  philosopher,' 


CORNEILLE 

but  that  he  was  a  man  who  lived, 
suffered,  passed  through  the  myriad 
experiences  of  his  fellow  man,  and 
was  the  richer  and  better  for  the  very 
simplicity  of  those  experiences. 

There  was  discovered  in  the  city  of 
Rouen,  many  years  ago,  an  old  book 
of  parish  accounts.  Some  thirty 
pages  of  this  book  are  in  Corneille's 
own  hand.  The  poet's  house  in  Rue 
de  la  Pie  belonged  to  the  parish  of 
Saint-Sauveur.  The  church  has  long 
since  completely  disappeared,  but  the 
enormous  folios  which  contained  the 
parish  accounts  were  preserved,  and 
in  1840  a  scholar,  Deville,  discovered 
'to  his  surprise  and  joy'  that  Cor- 
neille  had  kept  the  books  for  a  year 
and  made  the  entries  of  receipts  and 
expenditure,  with  his  own  hand.  Cor- 
-i-i86-»- 


CORNEILLE 

neille  was  '  treasurer  in  charge  '  of  the 
parish  from  Easter,  1651,  to  the  cor- 
responding date  1652.  There  was 
satisfaction  over  this  discovery  for 
the  reason  that  examples  of  the  poet's 
handwriting  are  'excessively  rare/ 
Deville  reminded  that  part  of  the 
public  which  shared  his  interest  that 
these  entries  must  have  been  made 
about  the  time  when  Corneille  was 
writing  his  'admirable  tragedy  of 
Nicomede'  The  coincidence  is  suf- 
ficiently striking  in  itself;  we  are  not 
required  to  follow  the  enthusiastic 
discoverer  to  the  point  of  believing 
that  Corneille  may  have  written  Nico- 
mede  and  kept  the  parish  accounts 
*  with  the  same  pen.' 

It   is   a    pleasure    to    know   these 
homely  details  of  a  great  poet's  life. 
■H.187+- 


CORNEILLE 

Genius  is  never  more  attractive  than 
when  it  is  busied  and  patiently  busied 
with  the  commoner  affairs  of  life. 
Great  men  are  so  imposing  and  so  in- 
scrutable, they  make  such  a  demand 
upon  one's  powers  of  admiration,  that 
it  is  a  relief  to  get  some  testimony 
as  to  their  human  and  familiar  quali- 
ties. Rcederer  used  to  wish  that  it 
might  have  been  his  privilege  to  see 
Madame  de  Sevigne  sitting  with  her 
friends,  embroidering  or  sewing.  A 
glimpse  of  the  great  epistolary  artist  as 
she  appeared  in  hours  of  relaxation, 
when  she  employed  her  time  as  less 
gifted  women  employed  theirs,  would 
be  illuminating,  the  distinguished 
critic  thought.  Who  would  not  re- 
joice in  the  discovery  of  some  frag- 
ment of  those  accounts  which  Geof- 


CORNEILLE 

frey  Chaucer  used  to  keep  when  he 
collected  revenues  on  skins  and  tanned 
hides  for  the  port  of  London  ?  The 
finding  of  some  hitherto  unknown 
poem  would  hardly  bring  us  so  near 
to  the  author  of  the  Canterbury  Tales 
as  memorabilia  of  this  homely  char- 
acter. 

The  only  relation  to  genius  which 
the  majority  of  us  sustain  consists  in 
the  ability  to  appreciate  it  more  or 
less  imperfectly.  Perhaps  for  this  rea- 
son alone  we  should  rejoice  in  every 
detail,  no  matter  how  commonplace, 
which  has  the  effect  of  narrowing  in 
some  little  degree  that  gulf  which  di- 
vides the  man  of  genius  from  the  vast 
multitude  of  human  beings. 

The  unconscious  element  in  Cor- 
neille's  work  has  been  absurdly  exag- 
-§•189  H- 


CORNEILLE 

gerated.  The  poet  lived  among  the 
mountain  heights,  and  when  he  came 
down  into  the  valley,  he  seemed  odd 
and  childish  to  the  dwellers  in  the  val- 
ley. They  said  foolish  things  about 
him,  as,  for  example,  that  he  was  able 
to  estimate  the  value  of  a  play  only 
by  the  sum  he  received  for  it.  This 
is  to  push  the  '  goblin '  theory  of  po- 
etic composition  to  its  most  grotesque 
point. 

Surely  it  is  not  unreasonable  to  be- 
lieve, even  in  respect  to  so  intangible 
a  thing  as  poetry,  that  they  who  have 
accomplished  great  ends  know  best 
the  means  to  those  ends.  Corneille 
had  a  marvellous  gift  for  poetry.  He 
was  spontaneous  and  prolific.  But 
he  was  also  a  consummate  literary  ar- 
tist. He  had  learned  the  great  les- 
-H90'*- 


CORNEILLE 

son  that  raw,  untutored  genius  will 
not  carry  a  man  to  the  highest  pin- 
nacle of  literary  fame.  There  must 
be  added  patient,  unremitting,  finely 
directed  toil. 


191. 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL 
NOTE 


X  HE  following  list  of  books  is,  perhaps, 
sufficiently  extended  to  meet  the  needs  of 
the  amateur  of  literature.  The  specialist 
will  not  require  to  be  told  how  indispen- 
sable is  the  Bibliographie  Cornelienne^  by 
Emile  Picot,  Paris,  1876. 

The  materials  relating  to  Corneille  are 
divided  into  three  groups  :  — 

First  :  Brief  critical  and  biographical 
notices.  After  consulting  the  admirable 
manuals  by  Lanson,  Lintilhac,  Brunetiere, 
and  Faguet,  the  student  may  to  his  advan- 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE 

tage  read  the  passages  on  Corneille  in  the 
following  general  histories  of  French  liter- 
ature. 

1.  Nisard  (D.),  Histoire  de  la  Litter  a- 
ture  fran^aise,  Paris,  Firmin-Didot.  17® 
edition.     Vol.  II.,  pp.  87-135. 

2.  Godefroy  (Frederic),  Histoire  de  la 
Litterature  fran^aise :  XVII  siecle,  Poetes. 
Paris,  Gaume  et  0%  1897,  ^^  edition  ;  pp. 
109—144  are  devoted  to  Corneille. 

3.  Doumic  (Rene),  Histoire  de  la  Lit- 
terature  fran^aise,  Paris,  Delaplane.  13® 
edition,  pp.  245-254. 

4.  Albert  (Paul),  La  Litterature  fran- 
faise  au  dix-septieme  siecle,  Paris,  Hachette, 
1892.      8®  edition,  pp.  72-94. 

5.  Dowden  (Edward),  A  History  of 
French  Literature,  New  York,  Appleton, 
1897,  ^^  ^^^  series  entitled  ^Literatures  of 
the  World,'  pp.  16 3- 170. 

6.  Geruzez   (Eugene),    Histoire    de    la 

^-194-1- 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE 

Litterature  fran^atse.     Paris,  Didier,  1869. 
8^  edition.     Vol.  II.,  pp.  72-98. 

Second  :  Biographies  and  Critical  Es- 
says. 

1.  Bouquet  (F.),  Points  obscurs  et  nou- 
veaux  de  la  Vie  de  Pierre  Corneille,  Paris, 
Hachette,  1888. 

2.  Taschereau  (J.),  Histoire  de  la  vie 
et  des  ouvrages  de  Pierre  Corneille^  '  Biblio- 
theque  elzevirienne.'     Paris,  Jannet,  1855. 

3.  Guizot  (Francois),  Corneille  et  son 
temps.     Paris,  1852. 

4.  Lanson  (Gustave),  Corneille^  in  the 
series  of  '  Grands  £crivains  fran^ais.' 
Paris,  Hachette,  1898. 

5.  Faguet  (£mile),  Dix-septieme  Siecle^ 
*  Corneille.'  Paris,  Societe  fran^aise  d'im- 
primerie,  1898  ;  pp.  3-29.  Consult,  also, 
Faguet's  Corneille^  in  the  '  Collection  des 
Classiques  populaires.'  Paris,  H.  Lecene 
et  H.  Oudin,  1888. 

--HI95-*- 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE 

6.  Breitinger  (H.),  Les  Unites  d'Aris- 
tote  avant  le  Cid  de  Corneille,  Geneve  et 
Bale,  Georg  et  C%  1895. 

7.  Brunetiere  (F.),  Les  ^poques  du  the- 
atre fran^ais.     Paris,  Hachette,  1892. 

8.  Petit  de  Julleville  (L.),  Histoire  de 
la  Langue  et  de  la  Litterature  fran^aise, 
Paris,  Colin,  1897.  ^^^'  ^ *^  chapter  5. 
The  chapter  on  Corneille,  comprising 
about  eighty  pages,  is  by  Jules  Lemaitre. 
One  should  also  read  the  chapter  on  the 

*  theatre  au  XVII  siecle  avant  Corneille,' 
by  E.  Rigal,  and  the  chapter  on  the  *  the- 
atre au  Temps  de  Corneille,'  by  Gustave 
Regnier.  At  the  close  of  each  chapter 
will  be  found  a  bibliography. 

9.  Marty-Laveaux  (Ch.),  Notice  bio- 
graphique  sur  Pierre  Corneille^  in  Vol.  I.  of 

*  CEuvres  de  P.  Corneille.'  Paris,  Ha- 
chette,  1862.  Read,  also,  in  Vol.  III.,  pp. 
3-76,  the  Notice  on  the  Cid. 

-1-196  •«- 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE 

lo.  Chdruel  (A.),  Memoires  sur  la  vie 
publique  et  privee  de  Fouquet.  Paris,  Char- 
pentier,  1862.     Vol.  I.,  chapter  23. 

The  student  should  not  fail  to  consult 
Sainte-Beuve's  Portraits  Litteraires^  the  Nou- 
veaux  Lundis^  and  Port-RoyaL 

Third  :  Direct  sources. 

1.  Corneille  (Pierre),  (Euvres^  edited 
by  Ch.  Marty-Laveaux,  in  the  series  of 
'  Grands  £crivains  de  la  France.'  Paris, 
Hachette,  1862,  in  twelve  volumes,  with  a 
supplementary  '  album  '  of  portraits,  stage- 
settings,  facsimiles,  etc. 

2.  Gast6  (Armand),  La  ^erelle  du 
Cidy  pieces  et  pamphlets  publies  d*apres  les 
originaux^  avec  une  introduction,  Paris, 
Welter,  1898. 

3.  Pellisson  et  d'Olivet,  Histoire  de 
T Academie  fran^aise.  Paris,  Didier  et 
0%  1858,  2  vols.  Pellisson  gives  fifteen 
pages  to  the  *  quarrel  of  the  Cid.'     D'Oli- 

^197+- 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL   NOTE 

vet  reprints  the  Vie  de  M,  Corneille  Vaine^ 
by  Fontenelle.  In  the  notes  Livet  has  in- 
dicated the  variations  between  this  text  of 
the  *  life  '  and  that  which  was  printed  in 
the  third  volume  of  Fontenelle's  '  works/ 
edition  of  1742. 


198- 


ElectrotyPed  attd  printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  b*  Co, 
Cambridge  t  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


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J>"0 


LD  21-100m-7,'33 


r^4(<i 


\  H     UOCFU  / 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


